


Asphyxi-Fate 4: Snowploughing

by victorchewitsshouldntdothis



Series: Asphyxi-Fate [4]
Category: Deadly Premonition | Red Seeds Profile
Genre: I regret going this far with it but this is the life I chose, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-28 01:02:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13892946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorchewitsshouldntdothis/pseuds/victorchewitsshouldntdothis
Summary: After a year of near-peace, Michael's obsessive personality finally has something new to latch onto. It's a good thing that he has such strong communication skills to fall back on, when he's put in the position of trying to figure out what awful thing is whispering in the shadows now, ready to spoil the life he has painstakingly made for himself. Or, remembering that he's terrible at talking to other human beings, there's always panic and jumping to conclusions instead.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.

The crisp autumn breeze cut across Michael’s face as he searched his pocket for his keys. It could not be more obvious that winter was on its way. No doubt it would be snowing before he knew it. As he finally wrapped his freezing fingers around the key fob, the front door opened by itself, and he looked up sharply, before breaking into a smile. The figure on the doorstep was already retreating back into the relative warmth of the house. Michael followed and shut the door behind him in a hurry, not wanting to let the precious little heat that Victor’s miserable home set up was capable of generating escape.

“How did you know I was out there?” he asked. Victor did not turn around, and instead flattened himself back on the sofa in front of a paused television screen that was now positioned on a coffee table instead of the apple crate he had been using when Michael first met him, a little over a year ago.

“I heard you fucking around out there,” Victor answered over his shoulder. “Who else would be hopping around on my steps like a wounded swan?” Michael twisted his lip in dark amusement.

“You have to be careful,” he said, swooping over and leaning across the back of the sofa, holding up his arms with fingers bared like claws. “I might be a murderer with a taste for blondes.” Victor turned his chin up and sneered.

“Like all murderers, then,” he scoffed. “We certainly get around.”

“Well, you certainly do,” Michael shot back, smirking to himself. “Or did. Although, I would not rate either of our chances in a horror movie. Your hair colour, and my –”

“Gayness,” Victor interrupted.

“Not what I was going to say, but probably just as fatal,” Michael said. These days, he was becoming something of an unwilling expert on horror movies and their rules, thanks to the company he kept. He walked around and sat down next to Victor, leaning up against him, letting out a forced sigh. “Work was long today.”

“Cruel of them to keep hours the same length even when you’re working, isn’t it?” Victor said, reaching for the remote. Michael, his transparent plea for attention ignored, pushed on anyway.

“It certainly is…” he agreed sarcastically. Victor hovered over the remote like a buzzing bee, waiting for Michael to stop talking so he could safely resume his film. “At least my training is nearly finished, now. After that, I’m hoping the pressure will relax. It’s not as if the hospital is ever busy.”

“People in Greenvale sure know how to brave their skinned knees and whoopsies,” Victor muttered idly, staring at the motionless television screen. Michael considered snatching the remote away from him and forcing him to pay attention, but managed to resist the impulse.

“Perhaps I should have invested in it more and started training to become a doctor,” Michael said, glaring at the side of Victor’s head. Not that Victor noticed at all.

“That would have been sexier – hey!” Victor snapped as Michael failed to control himself a second time and grabbed the remote from under his hand, brandishing it in the air like a dagger. “What are you doing?” Victor asked, irritably. The sour look on Michael’s face quickly convinced him not to push the martyr angle, and he retreated an inch further into himself.

“I was trying to tell you about my day,” Michael said snottily. “Or has enough time passed in our relationship that you’re no longer interested in those kinds of petty details?” He allowed his arm to slowly relax, as he shoved the remote down between the cushions on the farthest side of the sofa, out of Victor’s reach.

“We’ve only been together a year,” Victor muttered. “It’s not like we’re sticking together for the kids just yet.” He took a moment to, as far as Michael was concerned, get over himself, before going on in a slightly more agreeable tone. “Tell me about your day. Is Fiona still pushing you to be the best damn nurse the world has ever seen?”

“I’m not technically a nurse,” Michael said, slowly defrosting for his own part, and letting a ghost of a smile grace his lips. He crossed his arms firmly over his chest, just to be safe. Better that he still seem wounded. “But yes. She never gives up. I’m sure eventually I’ll be the asset she hopes I can be. Though, with so few actual patients, we’ll have to wait and see.” He scrunched up his nose as he said it, instantly anticipating the grin now plastered on Victor’s face.

“That’s a buck for the rhyme jar!” Victor crowed. He leant across, teasingly pressing himself close to Michael’s face, and was waved away.

“I know, I know. Don’t be obnoxious,” Michael muttered back, pretending to be annoyed. The habit was fading with time, but like so many old habits, there was nothing he could do to kill it completely. Every now and then, without thinking, a sentence or two just so happened to slip out in rhyme. And Victor never missed an opportunity to rub it in his face.

“We could replace your whole inheritance with it, given a couple more poetic years,” Victor sniggered. Michael scoffed at him.

“We won’t need to. Isn’t that the whole point of me dragging myself up to the hospital every day of the week?” he said. “Mr. Stewart –”

“Oh, don’t make me –”

“ _My father_ , if that makes you happy,” Michael went on, before Victor could start criticising that old habit, too. “Was very clear that, so long as I did not waste my inheritance on propping up my… how did he put it?”

“Loutish?” Victor suggested. “Insufferable? Work-shy? East-Coast coaster? Ambition vampire? More effective than a bullet to the head at snuffing out your potential?”

“Something like that. I think the word boyfriend appeared at the end of the sentence,” Michael said dryly. “As long as I did not use it to prop you up, I could move out and still keep my inheritance. I just needed to…”

“Get a job,” Victor finished for him. “And learn the value of hard work, like all old people demand of the young, so that we don’t waste all our time on sex, drugs, and that loud music that’s so popular these days. Of course, I would have thought you already grasped the meaning of hard work, dragging him around for years.” He snorted to himself to punctuate, doing a bad job of concealing his feelings on the topic, as ever.

“Don’t start,” Michael said, and Victor acquiesced. Neither of them felt the need to have an argument about Harry Stewart. Again. Michael curled in closer against his boyfriend, hoping the brief moment of unpleasantness was out of the way. It was just that, nagging at the corner of his mind, there was the slightest feeling that this had been happening more often lately. Probably, that was just his imagination. “There is a lot of unused space in that hospital,” he murmured, trying to turn the topic and get his thoughts off the worry that would not stop biting. “You could get lost in some of the rooms in the basement. It’s a maze.” He felt Victor slide closer to him, and took it as an excuse to tell himself off for thinking something was wrong. He always let his mind get the better of him. Such an overthinker, which was another of those old habits he could do with getting rid of.

“Try not to, eh?” Victor said, sounding amused. Sounding like he was trying to be, anyway. “I don’t want to have to come looking for you down there. There might be ghosts.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts, Victor,” Michael said softly. There was a little hesitation on Victor’s part that Michael was fairly sure he was imagining. Almost sure.

“Well, you have to hope not,” Victor said at last. “What kind of world would that be?”


	2. Two

The next day, Michael returned home from work to find that Victor was not in his usual place on the living room sofa. He called out, but to no avail, and the lack of an answer started off the vague gnawing of worry in the back of his head. Trying to dismiss the feeling, he went over to the bedroom door, knowing that there was a good chance that Victor had accidentally forgotten to wake up. Likely having pulled another of his all-nighters, working on his writing, on some forgotten yet crucial approaching deadline. Even as he tried to reassure himself, however, Michael was sure that he remembered Victor being asleep next to him when he had left that morning.

Victor was not in the bedroom. Michael went and disturbed the sheets, just to be sure, even though there was clearly no shape lying under them. As he stepped back into the hallway, he could no longer suppress his worry. The two of them had been together for a while now. Thankfully, there had been no other unpleasant incidents of the type that involved Carol MacLaine, or anyone like her, that they had had when they were first starting out, but there was still some part of him that expected it. He tried to join in with Victor’s sarcastic, self-deprecating jokes at his own expense, and he tried to remind himself that nothing had happened since they had settled into their relationship, but it never seemed to erase that doubt. Nights like these, when he did not know where Victor had gone, always fed it, bloating up the panic until he could not take the pressure. Michael let out a breath, telling himself this was just him being stupid. Victor was probably in the shower.

The bathroom door was shut, and there was absolutely no sound coming from the other side, but for a moment Michael almost managed to believe that that was where his boyfriend was hiding. When he opened the door, there was no-one there. It was empty and dry. His shoulders sunk. Over the next few minutes he searched the rest of the small house, checking the kitchen, looking out the back door, and even daring to go down to the basement. Never his first choice. Standing in the dark, damp cellar always reminded him of when he had first come to this house, and had had to hide down there when the rain was bad. Those were not fond memories. He was never more thankful for the gasmask that Victor had given him, shut up in the wardrobe and waiting to be needed, than when he was forced to spend a second in their basement. That place, too, was empty, and Michael trudged back upstairs, lost on what to do next.

As he was standing there mournfully, the phone rang, and he went to answer it. It would at least be a momentary distraction. When he pressed it to his ear, he got more than that. In an instant, he recognised the sound of Victor’s vague groan, and the background chatter of a busy bar. The turnaround from the wide-eyed expression he had been wearing a moment ago, to the scowl that painted itself across his face at that first sound coming down the phone line, should have given him whiplash.

“Micheeh…” Victor slurred over the phone.

“Yes, you’re correct,” Michael sniped. “It’s me. You’ve correctly identified me, even in your current state. Do you want a prize?” There was a mumbled chorus of giggles, and Michael could feel his jaw tightening as he considered how, just minutes ago, he had been worrying about this selfish oaf.

“Naw, naw…” Victor slurred in response, apparently taking him seriously. “Listen, Mickeeeh… I need… favour.”

“Let me guess, Victor,” Michael snapped. “You’ve got yourself into trouble, and need someone to come and rescue you. Someone who’s sober enough to recognise which end of a car you sit in.” Another jingle of giggles that set Michael’s teeth on edge. He was expected to just run along after him, and fix whatever had happened. That was another thing. When he got there, he would have to find out exactly what _had_ happened.

“Peease… please,” Victor groaned. “Come get me… don’t thin… couldn’t find my way home, not like this… Michael.” There was a weak, yearning groan, as he interrupted himself. “Can you come now? I’m… Galaxy of Terror.”

“Of course you are,” Michael snapped, and hung up, knowing that another second would push him over the edge. It was tempting to just leave him there. Let Carol drag him home after work, or leave him to rot somewhere, but he refused to be the lesser person. He wanted to hold onto the moral high ground at all costs. Turning towards the door, he took a moment to practice his scowl, before storming out. The car was staying put. Victor could walk home, even if he did need someone to hold his hand all the way there.

\--

When Victor woke the next morning, Michael was sitting stiffly at the end of the bed, as he had been for almost half an hour, waiting for him to finally reanimate. Michael watched Victor twitch uncomfortably back to life, scratching at a honey swirl of hair, and rubbing his eyes. Eventually he managed to focus long enough to realise that it was actually Michael sitting across from him, and not some figment of his imagination.

“Mickey? What’s up…” he groaned, each word scratching on the way up. Michael remained cold and silent, wearing the sullen scowl he had practiced on the walk home last night.

“What’s ‘up’, Victor,” he began, in a voice that sounded like it had been sitting in the freezer for most of the night, “is that I had to bring you home last night, drag you, essentially, as you could barely stand, and we’re going to talk about why.” Victor’s eyes glazed, and he slid backwards into the bed, as if there was some escape to be found under the covers. Michael helpfully yanked them away, and continued. “Do you remember what happened?” he asked.

“Not really…” Victor mumbled unhappily, scratching his cheek. “I guess… I remember getting stuck with the article I was writing, and getting frustrated. I went for a walk, ended up at the bar…”

“As one does,” Michael interjected, curling his lip.

“Uh-huh,” Victor said flatly. “Then, wild guess here I know, I think I started drinking.”

“And you would be right,” Michael said, still as cold as the wind outside. “You called me to come and get you, because you were past the point of hopelessness. And do you know what I found when I arrived?” Victor shrunk away from him, and Michael felt a tiny sliver of pride at how well he was managing to make himself seem imposing. Unless he was just speaking too loudly for the hungover heap in front of him. Either way, Victor did not answer, waiting to see how much trouble he was in before he risked it. “After hanging up the phone, you apparently decided you were too tired to wait for me to get there and rescue you. I arrived to a very angry Carol MacLaine, and a couple of women who insisted they were ‘friends of yours’, all crowded around the bathroom door. You had locked yourself inside by trapping a mop under the door handle, then turned on one of the sinks because, as you later informed me whilst I was forced to cradle you on the walk home, the sound of running water makes you feel peaceful. Carol had been hammering on the door for ten minutes trying to get you out of there, but you had retreated like a dying cat, and would not be moved. Your friends couldn’t convince you either, so that’s how useful they are. When I called out to you, we were all pleased to hear that you were still alive, because you just about managed to answer me with my name.”

“S-see… I was happy you were there…” Victor mumbled, though he was not ignorant enough to sound hopeful. Another glare from Michael, and his shoulders slouched further down into his blanket burrow.

“You were happy ‘Mmuhkey’ was there, I suppose, yes,” Michael went on icily. “But you still refused to come out. I convinced the others to let me try by myself. It took a huge amount of effort and some disgusting promises, but you eventually crawled out of your hole. When you finally opened the door, it became obvious you had fallen asleep on the floor.”

“That’s a… rhyme,” Victor muttered weakly, giving up the little enthusiasm he had halfway through. Michael did not stop to acknowledge him, he was riding a wave of smug anger that felt extremely gratifying to express. He would not like to admit it, but being right about upcoming disappointment was one of his favourite feelings. That probably said something unpleasant about him. Still, he had certainly had a lot of time to enjoy the feeling, over the years.

“I dragged you all the way back here and put you in the shower, although I was paranoid that you were going to fall asleep in there and drown,” Michael said, not adding that, if Victor had slept himself to death in the shower, he would have lost his chance to go off at him. Nor that he had been looking forward to doing so, and was getting a twisted jolt of satisfaction for every moment this one-sided argument went on. Nothing felt quite as good as vindication at someone else’s expense. “Then I got you into bed, where you find yourself now.” He paused, clearing his throat, and added, in a slightly more neutral tone, “at least I suppose you were far too incompetent to have done anything… you’d regret.” They both knew what he meant.

“I didn’t. I wouldn’t!” Victor said, hand tensing over his chest, the other reaching out for Michael, and missing. “That’s not what I was there for. You _know_ it wasn’t.” Much as he had worried last night, when he had first got the call, Michael would admit now that he had let his imagination get carried away. Victor had not gone out looking for anyone else. It seemed, if his isolation in the Galaxy of Terror’s bathroom was anything to go by, he had actually wanted to avoid everyone possible.

“And those friends of yours…” Michael began, knowing he was practically begging for reassurance, and hoping it would go over Victor’s head while he was stuck in his current drowsy state.

“I swear, they’re just friends,” Victor insisted. He reached out again for Michael, and this time managed to cling weakly to his pyjama sleeve. “I don’t even know them that well. There’s just a couple of people I see around that I know to say hello to. That’s it.” He tried to grin, but it fell somewhat short, looking fragile on his tired face. “You know I barely leave the house if I can get away with it.” Michael did know that. Almost every evening when he came back from work, Victor was waiting for him. It was the very reason why yesterday had sent him into such a panic. The only times that Victor left were for the occasional grocery run, and the odd weekend that Michael was able to coax him out to the diner for lunch. Then, of course, there were evenings like this at the Galaxy of Terror, which Michael could do without.

“All right,” Michael said softly, ready to thaw. He watched as a smile settled on Victor’s face, and felt one cross his own. Gently nudging him away, he got to his feet. “Let me get you some water. You must be in a lot of pain.”

“Nothing I don’t deserve, I bet,” Victor joked, with a fragile wince. Before Michael could go, he leaned towards him. “Michael… sorry. I’m sorry I bugged you with it. And for worrying you. I was just being selfish.” As he looked down at the weary, bleary face, Michael felt a stir of affection in his chest. It was hard to hold a grudge any longer than was necessary. He was already spent, in terms of indignation.

“It’s better this way than finding out in the morning that you tried to walk home alone, and ended up underneath someone’s car,” he said. Victor gave a little laugh. It almost sounded mean-spirited, though Michael could not understand why it would be.

“Wouldn’t that be ironic,” Victor said, before sinking back deep into the bed, and flattening his face against the pillow.


	3. Three

Michael stood in front of a hissing wok on the stove, wondering how much chopped parsley he could get away with adding to the food before Victor refused to eat it. Today, with Victor’s brain desperately rebooting after his long night out, he could probably sneak in more than usual. He added an extra handful and smirked to himself. Maybe one of these days Victor would drink so much that he could feed him green beans without a fight.

“I’ll be through soon,” Michael called out, trying to make his words reach the living room. It was a relief, sometimes, living in a smaller house. If he had had a question about the cooking back when he had lived with his father, he would have had to make the trek all the way through to the dining room and back, by which time something was always bubbling over and attaching itself to the counter.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Victor shouted back, managing to sound disinterested even though he was yelling over the screaming of the television. Michael sighed and quietly stirred the pot. When he was finished cooking, he set the plates down on the kitchen table, and went to shift Victor off the sofa. He found him lying out, legs shot loosely over the arm, eyes glazed and pointed in the direction of the movie on the TV. Michael followed his gaze. Nothing out of the ordinary there. It was from his well-worn collection of horror DVDs. Organs and tits spilling equally from opposite ends of a tank top, as saws whirred and virgins screamed. He turned the set off, expecting a reaction, but Victor barely seemed to notice that anything had happened. His eyes moved slightly from the wall to Michael, and his face did not manage to change.

“Dinner’s ready,” Michael said, a small contusion of worry forming somewhere in the back of his head. Not that there was any reason for it, he reminded himself. His dear beloved was just feeling the effects of another wasted evening at the bottom of several bottles. Victor dragged himself to his feet and followed Michael through to the kitchen, dumping down into a chair and nudging the plate of food around, listlessly, with his fork.

Michael sat down, watching Victor carefully. He ate his own food without looking away. Victor had his head in one hand, and was feeding himself slowly, as if the hand and the face belonged to different people, who were struggling to work together. It was not too different to how he usually acted with a hangover, but there was no joy in his eyes, and he was far too quiet. Any meal that was not constantly interrupted by Victor’s loud, brash peppering of jokes and asides was unusual.

“Are you feeling all right?” Michael asked. “I know it was a long night.” He waited for Victor to take the bait. Instead, he watched him put another forkful of rice into his mouth, with only a slight shrug.

“Just tired,” Victor answered. “Did you put that green stuff in this sauce?”

“No,” Michael lied. There was no argument, just more silence. It occurred to Michael that perhaps, earlier in the evening, before he had ridden in on his white horse, Victor had got up to something he was trying to keep secret, after all. The thought bit hard, and for a moment he struggled, forced to swallow roughly and catch his breath, but then he remembered how angry Carol MacLaine had been with Victor for holding her bathroom hostage. If he had set the slightest foot out of place, there was no doubt she would have told on him. That let him relax a little, but it did nothing to fix the real problem at hand.

When he had finished eating, and Victor had ground to a stop and let his fork sit by the side of the plate untouched for five minutes, Michael cleared everything away. There was some ice cream in the freezer which he had been planning on saving until his training at work was officially over, but it was the weekend, and he sensed it would be a great help today. He served it into bowls and put one down in front of Victor, who stared blankly until Michael was forced to point out that there was already a spoon on the table.

“Is it good?” he asked, watching closely as Victor picked at the dessert.

“Yeah,” was the only response he got. He frowned. Maybe some conversation would liven things up. He had just the right topic in mind. Bringing it up now was a win/win. Either it would wake Victor up, or he would agree placidly in his current state, and it would save them an argument about it later.

“Mr. Stewart… my father was asking what our plans were for Thanksgiving,” Michael said carefully, aware that under normal circumstances he was essentially trying to unwire a bomb. Victor barely consented to the occasional family dinner at the Stewart mansion as it was, and had done his absolute best to avoid spending any holidays or special occasions there. Last Christmas had been an exciting fight. Michael had been caught between Victor, who had a whole three days planned without a break, decorations, gingerbread, and sweaters, and Harry, who had never given a single fig about Christmas until, conveniently, Michael broached the idea of spending it with someone else. At which point, the man who had previously said that Christmas was for ‘happy families’, and that there were enough trees outside without dragging one into the dining room to make a mess, before spending the day itself in sullen isolation, presumably lamenting his past like a mid-story Scrooge, suddenly told Michael that the two of them should be together for the holiday. They were a _family_ , after all. He had been insistent. Michael had managed to pry a few hours out of Victor’s schedule to go home for dinner, but he had not convinced him to come along with him. He sensed that this conversation would end in much the same place, with him making plans to go to Thanksgiving dinner alone. He was wrong.

“Ugh, Thanksgiving,” Victor snarled, sounding like a person for the first time in hours. Something that Michael could not celebrate, because of his obvious tone of distaste. “We really care about that, do we?”

“It’s a holiday,” Michael pointed out, though why he needed to was lost on him. He was trying to remember what had happened with it last year, and could not place Victor’s involvement at all. He had ended up back at home, to organise the cook and server that Harry always insisted on hiring, and Victor had been absent. He did not remember having a fight about it.

“Some fucking holiday,” Victor sneered, stabbing his ice cream violently with his spoon. “Sorry, but the concept of that one has always alluded me. What exactly is it meant to celebrate?”

“Togetherness,” Michael suggested, knowing he was losing an argument he did not even know he should have been prepared for. Victor scowled at him, before darting his eyes back to his bowl, where he dug pits in the melting hill in front of him. “It’s just an excuse for families to spend time together.”

“Yeah, well, they all are. Except maybe Halloween,” Victor muttered pissily. “So I don’t see why I should care about this one. You wanna celebrate some murder, go pour one out for that local girl everyone thought you stuck it in last year.”

“The knife, I assume you mean,” Michael muttered uncomfortably, unable to stand maintaining eye contact. He made himself eat another spoonful of his dessert, only to realise he no longer felt like it. His attempt to brighten Victor up had failed magnificently.

“Why would we even bother?” Victor went on, apparently unwilling to let the topic pass. “Another chance to have a frosty dinner with your dad, oh no, I don’t think so! Or is it so we can have an excuse to shovel turkey into our mouths, only for him to ‘forget’, once again, that I don’t eat meat? I swear, if I have to make a plate of carrots last the length of a meal one more time, I’ll blow my fucking brains out.”

“Fine!” Michael snapped, unable to bear the pressure anymore. It was making him feel sick inside. “I only brought it up because he wanted an answer. I’ll tell him you’re not going, and go by myself. He’ll prefer that, anyway. We all will.” He said the last part sullenly under his breath, hoping it would be missed. He was in luck, although not much. Victor did not notice his aside, but it was just because it was swallowed up under the next phase of his tirade.

“Why are _you_ even bothering to go?” he asked. “You hate all the work you have to do to make sure everything’s up to your dad’s standards, and you told me that, thanks to the never-changing specials in this two-horse town, you’re so bored of eating turkey it makes you prefer the napkins! Plus, you have work either side, so you’ll be tired anyway. What’s the point?” Michael tried to interrupt, but Victor went on, emboldened by some need to be right that had chosen this as its battleground. He leant forward over the table, waving his spoon as he spoke. “Besides, it’s not like either of our ancestors were pilgrims, is it? I’m sure my family were perfectly happy burning Protestants, or Catholics, or whichever it was, and rolling their eyes at the idiots locking themselves up on a wooden casket to float over the ocean for a year! I only came to this shitty country because teenagers don’t get a say in their old man’s moving plans, and I only _stayed_ here to get _away_ from playing happy fucking families. So, go ahead, Mickey, tell me one fucking reason I’d want to go play at being happy with _your_ broken family, when I do everything I can to avoid talking to mine?”

“I… I don’t… know…” Michael stammered. As he was trying to figure out what had happened, Victor got sharply to his feet. He took his bowl over to the sink and let it clatter in place as he turned and left, disappearing down the hallway, while Michael sat in shock. How the conversation had gone from loose mumbled words to that explosion, he had no idea. He had no idea what was wrong with Victor at all. It could not just be the aftereffects of last night. Something was going on, causing all this, and he had to find out what, before it got worse.

Victor spent the rest of the day by himself. Michael did his best to avoid him, reading in the bedroom while the sound from Victor watching TV bled through the wall, and then retreating into the bathroom for a forty-minute deep thinking shower when Victor decided he was going to try and work. By the end of the day, he found himself sitting rigidly on the sofa, staring at a page in one of his work books, while the television droned softly in the background. He had heard nothing from Victor for a few hours, and it felt as if it was finally safe to check on him. When he opened the bedroom door, he sighed. Victor was asleep on top of the blankets, still wearing his flannel shirt and jeans. There was a notepad sitting on the pillow next to him, and Michael picked it up, careful not to stir him. Victor wrinkled his nose and burbled gently in his sleep, and Michael could not resist smiling. The page that the notepad was open to contained a few lines of notes on Victor’s current article. The writing was scribbly and cramped, making it look like he had jotted things down as he was typing. It was all written in his usual note style, missing key words and connectives, various bits abbreviated at random, so the meaning of any of it was lost on Michael. He put the pad down on the nightstand and kissed Victor’s cheek, which made his eyelids flicker.

“Don’t wake up,” he whispered, brushing a blonde strand away from Victor’s face. He considered the idea of getting him into his pyjamas, but it seemed like a lot of effort. Besides, now that he was sleeping, he looked the most serene he had for weeks. Michael hated the idea of spoiling that. Dragging himself away, he got ready for bed, and went through the house checking the lights. When he came back, Victor was still sleeping peacefully, curled into the foetal position with his knees pulled up high. Michael looked wistfully down at him. There was something wrong. He wished he knew what it was, so he could help.


	4. Four

Sunday started off quieter. Victor must have felt guilty about the fight he had pushed them into yesterday, and had not brought it up again, but he had been more affectionate and pleasant since. By late afternoon, the two of them were on the sofa, watching one of the old movies that Michael preferred. Not an exposed bone or chainsaw in sight. Victor had his arm slung around Michael’s shoulders, and Michael was tucked into the crook of it, enjoying the quiet moment of lazy intimacy. He was feeling better today, after realising that he did not seem to be treading on eggshells with every step.

“Do you want to get something for dinner? Order a pizza or something?” Victor asked, and Michael shifted tighter in against him, resting a hand on his chest.

“I’m not especially hungry,” he said. In truth, he was distracted by the film. Onscreen, the romance was swelling to a height, and it was getting to him in the best way.

“Just as well, you’d want something gross on it, as ever,” Victor teased, reaching up to ruffle Michael’s hair. Michael laughed and knocked him away, trying to fix his bangs back into place. It was a good sign to hear Victor joking around, like he was his usual self. Maybe he had been imagining things after all. Victor’s work had been unexpectedly difficult, which had led to him drinking too much, which meant that when Michael brought up spending the holiday with his father, Victor was already feeling bad, and it made him think too much about his family problems. It all made sense. If he had been less of an obsessive, then Michael might have been able to sweep up every bit of worry underneath that logical sequence of events. As it was, he needed something more. He wanted proof that everything was fine.

The hero and heroine of the film fell into each other’s arms as the soundtrack brought out the piano in full force. Michael heard Victor quietly snort with amusement. Ignoring that, he settled back in against him, feeling Victor’s hair tickle his cheek. It really had been a shame, the way he had been lately. Detached, like he was trapped somewhere miles away. Michael could not help but feel as if there had been a distance between them, even when Victor had been acting more like himself. There was something… and then it occurred to him. He had not noticed, probably because he came home from work every night tired from being on his feet, running around trying to follow all of Fiona’s instructions, but there _had_ been something missing the past couple of weeks. The two of them had not done more than kiss. Michael let a smile creep wryly across his face. No wonder his boyfriend seemed different, he thought. The poor man must be suffering. It was sweet of him to back off while Michael flitted about, trying to finish his training at work, but there was no need. This was a problem he knew how to fix, and he intended to do so right now.

Michael turned his head and kissed Victor’s cheek. In return, he got a weak smile. The slightly embarrassed kind that Victor gave out in response to some of his sweeter-smelling affection, but Michael was not stopping this at sweet. He kissed him again, idly stroking his hair away from his face. Victor gave a quick laugh, but carried on watching the TV. Michael, liking the idea of where this was going more and more as he went on, ran his hand across Victor’s chest, over his shirt, and kissed his cheek with more force, hoping that Victor would turn his head. He did not. Michael moved his hand to Victor’s thigh and squeezed it, trying to crane his neck enough to catch his lips in the next few kisses. Victor laughed weakly, taking his arm away from Michael’s shoulder, and putting his hands in his lap. Unlike him, but Michael told himself that everything would feel better soon. He moved his hand further up the thigh, until he was blocked by Victor’s wrist, and then brought it up to his chest, running it across, and then, with both hands, clung tightly to the collar of Victor’s shirt, pulling and making him turn his head. Victor blinked back at him, as Michael started to kiss him on the mouth, stroking the shirt collar with his thumbs, eager to get it off. Victor pulled back and let out a breath, and Michael did the same. His face was growing hot and he was excited, thinking about what was going to happen. They could do it right here, he thought, shivering. Maybe Victor would return to himself long enough to flatten him back against the sofa cushions, or perhaps even drop him down onto the floor. He should not think about it too much in advance, with his head swimming, and his cock already hard. He would forget himself, and he wanted to enjoy the moment.

“You’re missing your movie,” Victor said, gently easing him away, carefully prying Michael’s stiff fingers off his collar. “I didn’t even want to watch it, so, you know, enjoy it now. I’m not going to sit through this sappy, arty dreck again anytime soon.” Michael, flustered, grabbed the remote and turned off the television.

“I don’t care!” he gasped loudly. He grabbed Victor’s face in both hands and kissed him again, before letting one set of fingers wander down to the front of Victor’s jeans. But when he attempted to grope him, he realised that there was nothing there to match the hardness in his own trousers. He stopped.

“Mickey, I just… don’t feel like it,” Victor said, and Michael noticed that he had drawn his shoulders in defensively. Michael was lost. This was the one thing that he could normally do that made anything better. When he had made a mistake with the laundry and put a pair of jeans through that still had a page of notes in the pocket, he had managed to apologise by sucking Victor off, just as soon as the argument crested. The time that Victor was so wound up after spending five straight hours at the Stewart mansion listening to Harry’s opinions on politics over tea that he had pledged to write an editorial in the local paper explaining exactly why the man was wrong about everything, Michael talked him out of it with a particularly aggressive evening in bed. He had even managed to talk Victor round when he had sourly locked himself in their bedroom and refused to come out, after Michael had told him that he did not think Jeffrey Combs had ever really been that attractive, though he had not been able to sit right for a few days afterwards. What was so different about this time? What was so wrong that he could not make it better?

“Why?” Michael asked, his face blank and his eyes wide, his breath still heavy. “Why don’t you? You always do.” Victor flinched, and looked away, struggling for an answer, letting out a bumpy ‘uhh’ sound without saying anything. “You might feel better if we do,” Michael tried, deciding that he needed it to happen. He had to get the reassurance it would bring him. He needed it, he needed it badly. Everything was so difficult, and there was no reason for it to be. Why could this tiny thing not just work out the way he needed it to?

“I won’t, I don’t feel like it,” Victor said uncomfortably, speaking too loudly for it to pass as normal. “Just don’t… don’t _push_ me.” The way he said that word got under Michael’s skin, and he found himself getting agitated. He had only been trying to make things better, there was no reason for Victor to act like he had done something wrong.

“You’re making it sound like I tried to force myself on you!” Michael snapped, his shoulders shaking. “I didn’t do anything wrong! I just want you to be _normal!_ ”

“Oh, is that what normal is?” Victor snapped back, rising to the bait without a second thought. “Is that all I’m good for, huh? Come on, admit it. That’s what you think, right?”

“Of course it’s not what I –” Michael scoffed, but Victor cut across him.

“It’s what everyone else thinks!” Victor shot back. “So why not you too? God, I’m stupid to think anything else.” His voice had begun to shake, and Michael had had enough time to process that they were long past a minor upset. He tried to put his hand on Victor’s shoulder, but he shook him off, getting up and walking backwards, banging into the wall, uncertain on his feet like a young animal. Michael got up to try and follow him, but Victor backed away further for every step he took, as if he was afraid of being cornered.

“Victor, come on. Come and sit down,” Michael tried. He felt like he was coaxing someone away from a cliff’s edge, and his chest was pounding just as hard as it had been before, but for a different, and far less pleasant reason. Victor shook his head madly, backing towards the door with his arms out in front of him.

“No!” he shouted. “No, this is the truth! This is how it always is, this is how it always was, this is the truth, this is it!” The words were coming out so fast and frantic that they blurred together, and Michael was having a hard time picking out one from another.

“Please, I’m sorry, I was just trying to make it better,” Michael pleaded. It felt as if Victor was not listening, worse, like he could not hear him even if he had wanted to. “It was the wrong thing, but I just… I needed to do _something_. I didn’t know what else to do. I want to feel close to you again, you’ve been… lately you’ve been…”

“What?” Victor called out, slamming back against the front door, his breath visibly ragged in the rise and fall of his chest. “You don’t like it? You don’t like me anymore? I’ve gone wrong, right? You think I’ve gone wrong?”

“You’re not happy!” Michael cried out, feeling desperate, and struggling to handle what was happening. “I just want you to be happy again!”

“You don’t like me!” Victor shouted back, sweeping his arm through the air. Michael ducked backwards reflexively, even though he was far out of arm’s reach. “You never did! You just want what everyone wants, and now you’re done, and you don’t like me anymore!”

“Well, I don’t like this!” Michael shouted, as the panic in his chest became too much, and he felt the impossibly strong urge to curl up into a ball. “I want you to be you again!”

“ _This is me!_ ” Victor screamed. “This is all there is. Once you peel back the surface and chuck out all the superficial stuff, this is all there is, and you hate me, you hate me like everyone else does!”

“Please!” Michael cried out, and he could no longer stop himself from running over, trying to at least get Victor into his arms. It would not fix anything, but he would feel better. If he could just get Victor to let him hold him, then he would _make_ it be better. Before Michael could even get close, Victor spun around in a fevered circle and opened the door, disappearing out into the dark of the evening at a run. Michael rushed forward, looking for him in a stupor, failing to process what had happened. Turning his head desperately back and forth, he searched the road, looking for the flash of red that signalled Victor. It took him seconds longer than he wanted, which gave Victor a decent head start by the time he caught sight of him, barrelling off in the direction of the woods. Michael fled after him, letting the front door slam shut of its own accord, trying to ignore the hot stinging sensation at the corner of his eyes.


	5. Five

By the time Michael found him, Victor had climbed a hill into the woods, and was kneeling with his back to him. Michael approached as quietly and carefully as he could, treating his panicked boyfriend like a deer he was trying not to startle. As he got close, he watched Victor crumple in front of him, and could not fight the urge to rush over and catch him. He fell limply into Michael’s arms, looking up at him with a set of weary eyes that displayed a general lack of recognition. He had only been out of the house for a moment before Michael followed, but he had managed to slip out of sight, and his jeans were worn all over with grass stains from where he had been kneeling and, apparently, had stumbled and fallen into the grass. The two of them looked into each other’s faces for a few silent seconds, and then Victor let out a frustrated wail and bent forward, beginning to cry. It was painful to watch. The tears came sloppily and the sound of Victor choking them back, and trying to suck in jumpy, twitching breaths was the only thing to break up the otherwise quiet night. Michael knelt numbly on the ground beside him, resting a hand on his back, stroking it occasionally, as if he was helping him throw up. When Victor’s sobs threatened to descend into actual choking, Michael patted his back, all the while waiting for it to end, but not knowing how to make that happen any faster. He was paralyzed and helpless, and he stared straight ahead, at the wall of trees, unable to do anything more than wait, and be begrudgingly patient.

“They’re mocking me…” Victor mumbled, coughing it out through sloppy breaths. Michael looked around, but just as he had thought, they were all alone.

“Who is?” he asked, speaking softly, trying not to tread another tripwire.

“Them,” Victor muttered, gesturing with a flick of his wrist towards the treeline. Michael looked again, just in case he had somehow missed a peeking face, a mocking smile, but there was no-one, no-one to be seen. He looked back at Victor slowly, at the sunken head and the messy, damp clumps of hair that formed a curtain, hiding his face. “They’re mocking me, listen,” Victor whispered, as his sobs finally tailed off into little more than an unsteady moan. The only sound in the empty woods.

“There’s no-one here,” Michael whispered. “It’s just you and me.” Instantly, Victor’s body tightened up, crystallising, and Michael instinctively reached out to bring him into his arms.

“I can see them. I can hear them, hear them all the time,” Victor mumbled, talking into his knees. As Michael watched, he shrugged him off, and sucked his knees into his arms, hugging them against him and twitchily rocking in place. “Why can’t you? You should. You must be lying about this as well.”

“I’m not lying!” Michael said hastily, and regretted it. He had a strong sense that something was terribly wrong, worse than it had ever been before, and being accused of lying was the least of it. “Victor, who is it? Who’s there?”

“Well, I don’t know, do I?” Victor moaned, shooting him a brief, icy, but frightened look, before burying his face deep in his knees again, forcing Michael to lean in close so that he could hear him. “They don’t tell me that kind of thing. They just keep talking. I can see them out there, they’re in the woods. There’s something in the woods.

“Just tell me who… tell me more, so I can help,” Michael said, struggling to be careful, trying not to push too hard. But he needed to know. He did not understand, and there was nothing he could do until he did. Victor let out a low whine and rocked himself shakily, trying to disappear into his own body, trying to become a black hole and vanish from this moment.

“You’re lying… you know. Of all people, you have to know. You’re lying…” From there, Victor degenerated into quieter mutterings, and Michael could no longer pick out any words. Not even when he leant his face against the side of Victor’s head. Maybe there was nothing to hear. Maybe he was crying again. Michael pulled back, and got to his feet. He looked back and forth, surveying the surrounding woods. No-one. Nothing. Silent trees and wavering leaves, and nothing more. No mysterious figures, no voices. They were alone. He looked back down to see that Victor had put his hands on his head and was scrunching them tight, white-knuckled against his skull. Applying as much pressure as he physically could. Michael’s instinct was to try and pull the hands away, worried that he was going to hurt himself, but he sensed that that would go over poorly, and forced himself to stay stationary. Not helping, and not leaving. Stuck in place, almost as much as Victor was.

“Why did you come out here?” Michael asked softly.

“I… I’m sick of them,” Victor answered after a few absent seconds. “Sick of it, keep hiding. Keep trying to talk to me, make me think things. And you…” In a sudden jerky movement, he lifted his head to stare at Michael, making him feel the need to edge away. “You’re letting them,” Victor croaked, staring with wet blue eyes up at him.

“Victor, I’m not… I’m not letting anyone do anything,” Michael insisted weakly, grasping for some way to argue his case, a case he did not understand. “Whatever you think is happening… it’s not.” Victor looked blankly back at him, and said nothing. “Perhaps… the drinking… you’ve been drinking more lately,” Michael suggested, reaching for a metaphorical branch to drag himself out of the mire and back towards land. And sense. “If you’ve overdone it too much, then maybe…”

“You’re going to keep lying?” Victor said, a crack shattering the last word in two. “Even now? Even when we’re where they live?” His eyes darted towards the trees against his will, on impulse.

“There’s no-one there, Victor. There’s no-one out here at all. No-one lives in the woods.” This was clearly the wrong thing to say. Looking panickily from Michael to the treeline, Victor got sharply to his feet and lunged into the darkness once more. He did not have a head start this time. Michael caught up to him just seconds later, grabbing his arm roughly, as Victor grasped for the tree trunk in front of him, still feverishly trying to escape. Michael held firm, and Victor slipped down onto his knees, defeated, a captured animal. This time, Michael wrapped his arms around him, placing his chin on his shoulder, so that there would be no more attempts to run.

“They’re… they’re still…” Victor moaned, the words crumbling into a low, indecipherable whine.

“Let me help you,” Michael whispered in his ear, trying to sound calm, to be above it all. Just like he had learnt at work, what they had trained him to do in this kind of situation. Sound like someone who would be able to help, even though he knew that his heart was racing, and that all he wanted to do was follow Victor’s lead and try to escape from this situation as fast as possible.

“How can you help me?” Victor whined. “Either you’re one of them and you’re a liar, or you don’t hear them, and you can’t do anything.”

“I’m not lying to you,” Michael repeated, feeling the need to press that point. It was better to argue against that, than admit that the second part might be true. No, he decided, it was not true. He would resist it. He would find something that he could do, and fix this. He would not admit that they were just two lost people, shivering together in the woods. Helpless. “What do they say?” he asked. The instinctual hiss that Victor let out was not comforting.

“They know what you’re doing, Michael,” Victor muttered. He seemed calmer now. The tears were gone, and his voice was flatter. None of it felt good. It was a deadness, an absence, not peace. “They make sure I know.”

“What?” Michael asked. “What am I doing?” He was ready to argue back against these invisible creatures, too, eager to stop them in their tracks. From spite, if nothing else, at this point.

“You’re playing with me,” Victor said. “You’re tricking me. You don’t love me at all. You’re waiting for the right moment to leave. That’s all this is. It’s a game, and I don’t want to lose.” He sucked in a sharp breath, then turned his head to catch a glimpse of Michael’s face. Looking for reassurance, Michael hoped. Not for confirmation.

“I do love you…” he said, wanting it to sound firm enough to convince him. “Of course I love you. You mean everything to me, why else would I be here now?” Victor shuddered, and Michael clung to him more tightly, hoping in some way that it was getting through, that being close to him like this might seal in what he was saying.

“How can you?” Victor whined. “How can you?”

“How can you love _me_?” Michael answered. “It’s the same. We both feel the same way. I didn’t realise you did… but we do. This is nothing I haven’t thought before, it’s so difficult to ever be sure…” It was hard not to start down the path of his own insecurities. Practically since they had first got together, Michael had wanted Victor to assure him that he loved him, but even after he had, there had been hiccups. After so many years of doubting whether or not he could ever win someone’s love, he had found that just being told that he had done it was not enough. The doubts remained. They still did, a year later, which he would admit was why things had been so hard lately. Being forced to watch Victor act this way had made it seem like the time had finally come, the moment when Victor would confess that it was an illusion, a clever, lingering illusion, and that it was time to leave. And then Michael would be alone again. He had not suspected that similar thoughts had been pulsing through Victor’s head all along. His boyfriend seemed so much more confident, more comfortable in himself, and he could win people over with a smile. There was no reason for him to be so insecure, as far as Michael could tell. But he had been wrong.

“Then we can’t. We can’t be sure,” Victor moaned. He reached up to clutch at his head again, but Michael snatched his hand and pressed it hard to his lips.

“It’s about trust,” Michael said, the truth escaping shakily as he realised he would have to force himself to take the same advice that he was giving. “You have to trust that I love you, because I tell you that I do. And I… I have to do the same. That’s the only way to live. You have to know that you trust the person you love, and that when they tell you things, they mean it. There’s no other way. I love you. Trust me on that.” Victor sniffed hard, and wiped at his face, trying to clean up some of the damage. He turned to look at Michael, shifting around in his arms, and kissed him weakly on the mouth. Michael leant in and kissed him back, feeling a wave of relief, hoping that the moment was passing, that they were safe now. When he opened his eyes, he saw a few faint flickers falling around them. White flakes. It was beginning to snow.

“I love you. I wish that was it,” Victor murmured. His throat was raw from crying, Michael could hear it. “I wish they would leave me alone. Let me be happy, this time.”

“There’s no-one…” Michael started, but then he reconsidered. That was not working, it was not reassuring. After a second, he went on, a firmer tone in place, hands gripping Victor by the shoulders. “I’ll protect you from them,” he said. “No matter what happens, I promise. I’ll protect you from them. I’ll do whatever it takes.” Victor looked at him, bleary-eyed and stunned, and Michael decided he had finally found the path to safety.

“Thank you,” Victor mumbled. “You will. I know you will. You promise.”

“I promise,” Michael said, as Victor fell forward against him, arms wrapped firm and tight around his back. He clung desperately to Michael, as if he would fall off the map as soon as he let go. It was a need, far beyond anything logical, and Michael had his arms around him too, refusing to be separated by anyone, or anything.

Victor began to kiss him, shy but eager, and Michael leant into it, overwhelmed by relief. His fingers and cheeks were cold, and he knew that it was unwise to be out here in the woods when it was both late and freezing, but he would not stop. The relief was overwhelming. Addicting, rushing in to replace the panic and the fear. It was too early to think about anything else. He peeked occasionally at Victor as they kissed, watched as snowflakes began to settle gently in his hair, and felt the need to stroke them into it, tangling his fingers lovingly in the cold mixture of white and gold.

Eventually, as the snow began to settle and the warmth of one another became all the more alluring, Michael felt himself being pressed down against the ground. The cold grass surrounded his face, tickling slightly, and he knew that this was going to end badly for his light-coloured clothes.

“Here?” he whispered, the word drawing open Victor’s eyes. “You want to… here?”

“Just… let’s just… let me hold you,” Victor murmured back, and Michael decided to go along with it. As if he was going to interrupt things, now that things were finally starting to look hopeful again. The light ahead had finally appeared, and Michael was snatching at it like an errant firefly. He pulled Victor back into a kiss, holding him close for warmth. When the inevitable hand dug at his waistband, accompanied by a cloud of visible breath scattering between their faces, Michael pushed his hips up to meet it. Victor’s hand disturbed the dark line of hair that lead down towards Michael’s cock, and then, in the next second, he had his hand around it.

Michael moaned softly as Victor pumped him, feeling the desperation travel through every jerk of his wrist. This was a needy grab for intimacy before anything else. Michael did not care. The reassurance was for both of them. Besides, with the snow churning at all sides, it felt good to share some warmth. Turning his head to the side, Michael watched as he stirred the settling snow with his fingers, untroubled by the tingling cold he was left with afterwards. This was the first proper snow they had had this year. The season must have been warmer than usual, right up until now. It was nice to have someone to share it with. He rarely had this kind of opportunity.

Letting his attention return to the moment, Michael went back to kissing Victor, whose hand did not leave its place for a second. Victor had started giving off little needy noises, keening, like he did when he was especially lost in the moment. His fist was wrapped tighter around Michael than he would normally let it be, and he occasionally slowed down to savour what he was doing. Who he was with. Michael buried his face in Victor’s neck, letting his own hot breath radiate around his face. It reminded him of wearing the gasmask, and the way it pressed so closely over his nose and mouth, keeping him prisoner while the rain came down outside. Once he was more used to their relationship, when the initial shine had settled into routine, he had largely wanted to be left alone when it was raining. It still had all the same connotations of solitude and danger for him and, more than that, he did not much care to risk accidental asphyxiation if he got over-excited whilst wearing the gasmask. Something that Victor had said he understood, even if he still managed to pry the occasional performance out of Michael, for a special occasion.

Michael’s head was swimming now. He felt light-headed, and assumed excitement was at fault. He had wanted Victor to come back to him, to feel like he was his again, and now he had it. If only the light-headedness would end, then he might be able to enjoy it properly. Victor was moving now, and shifted his head down between Michael’s thighs, negotiating with his trousers to let him in. Michael shut his eyes as Victor’s mouth encircled him. He stretched a hand over his head, sinking it into the snow. Maybe the cold was what had him feeling off, he thought. After all, he never used to go out in the snow. Harry refused to let him. It was too dangerous, he always insisted. What was it he said? Michael was having a hard time remembering, focusing. Car accidents. That was the start of it. Michael could not focus. The cold, and Victor, and trying to bring up the memory, it was too much. Car accidents… are the least of your problems… in Greenvale, Michael. Just because it’s not as strong… because it’s frozen… it’s still water. Finally, Michael’s eyes snapped open. It’s still rainwater. The same things can still happen, if you allow yourself to be surrounded by too much of the stuff. Say, by lying out in a snowbank, with your boyfriend between your legs.

“Victor…” Michael tried, feeling his tongue struggle to move, as if it was wrapped up in bubble-gum. Victor did not look up. The faint protest for help that Michael had managed must have sounded like an expression of his enjoyment. “Victor… please…” he tried again, though it was even weaker than the first. This time, Victor let go of Michael’s cock for just long enough to shoot him a brief and shaky grin.

“I love you,” he said, before returning Michael’s cock to where he wanted it, between his lips, teasing the head with his tongue. Michael twinged. His focus was lost, and he needed Victor to understand that he was in danger. With a great force of effort, Michael shoved Victor in the shoulder, pushing him off. Immediately, Victor looked up at him with a wide, wet-eyed expression that painted him as some kind of wounded deer. It broke a second later, when he took in the way Michael looked, the hands he had pushed him with now clutching at his forehead to try and keep himself stable. Driven by worry, Victor attempted to cradle him, shaking him, and generally being far too close for comfort. Michael was beginning to panic.

“Victor, it’s… snow… water…” he gasped in pieces, and watched with relief as he saw the situation finally click in Victor’s mind.

“Oh, shit. Shit.” He did not move. Michael had hoped he might make a run for it, and get himself to safety, but, perhaps struggling himself after all he had been through today, and too weak to think much about what was happening, he did nothing. He was still hovering over Michael, his breath close enough to feel, and Michael was slipping. The last thing he saw before he disappeared into the fog was the moist shimmer of Victor’s eyes, staring back at him, and afraid.


	6. Six

By the time Michael woke up, he could tell that a lot of time had passed. It was midday, roughly, based on the light. The snow had stopped, but there were melted puddles spread out over the grass, with sad, grey mounds at their centres. He was still in the woods, where he had been before he passed out. Not in quite the same place, though. As he tried to move, and bring some life back into his aching limbs, he realised that he had collapsed at the base of a tree. Wrapped partway around it, with his arms in an unnatural position, which explained the pins and needles that were agony to shift.

Victor was nowhere to be seen.

Michael, climbing to his feet and clinging to the tree for support, began to weigh up the possibilities. Victor might have run away, eventually, and could be at home right now. That was what he hoped had happened. He pictured Victor sitting, back at their house, wrapped up in a blanket, and trying to make himself feel better after what could politely be called a stressful evening. If he was not there, then… Michael did not want to think about what it might mean.

“Hey.” Michael looked around, spinning sharply on his heels. The single word had reached out softly from somewhere nearby, but he could not see anyone. For a terrible second, he wondered if the people in the trees that Victor had been so paranoid about the night before might be real, but then the sound was followed by a spray of pine needles falling from above, and Michael looked up. Hidden in against the trunk of the tree he had woken up at the base of, he could just make out Victor’s huddled form. He was clinging tightly to the tree, and Michael could tell just from looking at him that this was where he had spent the night. Victor showed all the signs of someone who had rolled down a rough slope, and the more Michael looked, the worse it was.

“Victor, what are you doing up there?” Michael called up. Victor shifted slowly in place, unwilling to let go of the trunk, lest he fall. He was a good eight feet off the ground, and Michael was amazed that he had managed to climb up there in the fragile state he had last seen him in.

“Are you… you again?” Victor asked, and underneath his obvious discomfort, Michael recognised actual fear. It chilled him. Based on what he last remembered, he had some idea of what had happened, and it was not something he wanted to imagine. Let alone something he might have to accept he had done.

“Yes, it’s me,” he said, as shame began to dig at his insides. Victor considered him for a moment, before hoisting himself down from the branch he had been sitting on, stumbling onto the one below it, and finally lowering himself to the ground. Once Michael could see him properly, he felt the need to cover his mouth in shock. Victor was plastered in cuts, some of which were just visible through two long rips in his shirt. The trickle of blood that iced each cut was long since dry, but they, and the dark bruise on his cheek, and the way he held back warily from Michael, were not a happy sight. Victor ruffled his own hair, pulling his hand away afterwards with a fresh layer of moss. He had never been more in need of a hot shower.

“You feeling any better?” Victor asked weakly. Michael edged towards him and Victor flattened himself instinctively against the tree behind him, eyes widening, before remembering that it was all right. “Sorry,” he muttered hoarsely, but Michael knew where the reaction was coming from. He knew what he had done.

“You didn’t run away in time,” he said. Victor bit his lip, unwilling to look him in the eye, and the reaction crushed Michael. This was exactly what Harry had always tried to spare him from doing. Possibly not to Victor, Harry might not have been too upset to learn about this incident in particular, but the whole point of keeping him isolated from people had to be to prevent something like this from happening. To stop him from hurting someone.

“Guess not, Mickey,” Victor said, forcing out a fragile smile. “It’s my own fault. You did warn me. Blame me for acting with the common sense of a bouncy-titted babysitter who won’t hang up the phone. But anyway, it…” He looked down at his hands, turning them over one another, and Michael saw more cuts, more grazes. “I came out of it all right.”

“What happened?” Michael asked. He needed to hear the details, so that his guilt could be accurate. He needed to make sure he felt guilty enough. Victor gave off a long sigh, preparing himself.

“Okay… okay…” he started, leaning back against the tree for support. He shut his eyes and sighed again. “Previously on, you started getting weird, and I finally realised it was because of the snow. I tried to help you get up, thought we might have enough time to make it home, but apparently not. We only made it a couple of steps before you tu… turned. It was like the night we met. Only this time, I wasn’t in a truck. When you… fuck, do you really want to hear all this?”

“Tell me everything, Victor,” Michael said feebly. “Everything.” Victor scrunched his nose, frowning, and pushed on.

“Fine,” he said. “You lunged for my throat. Missed, thankfully, but when I was trying to protect myself, you did me some damage.” Michael noted the rips and cuts down the sides of Victor’s shirt. He instinctively checked his nails and shuddered at the trace of dried blood he now noticed underneath them. It fascinated him that his strength always seemed to be saving itself for a rainy afternoon. “I realised that we were past the point of getting you into a gasmask, so I made a run for it. You’re really fucking fast, though, you know that? When you want to be?” Victor almost managed to smile. “Like a high school track kid. I can’t keep up with that. You took a few chunks out of me before I managed to get up the tree. Greenvale’s zombie infestation might be fast and vicious enough to put Romero to shame, but they’re apparently clumsier than a drunken fireman, so once I was a few branches up, you didn’t stand a chance of getting to me.” He laughed, a little unhappy hiccup of it, clenching his eyes tighter shut. “Not that that stopped you from trying. I wasn’t going to fall asleep and wake up on the ground with a broken neck, so I watched you for hours. You were still trying to get at me until the snow stopped. Clawing at the tree, trying to grab my legs… hopping, or some shit like that, at one point. All the while, you just had these… blank eyes. You were looking straight through me, while you were trying to rip my throat out. It didn’t matter who I was. You didn’t recognise me. I don’t know if you can think when you’re like that, but looking down at those blank eyes for hours, it was like I was a spider on your ceiling and you just wanted me squashed. You wanted me to die, but if I did, you would have stopped thinking about it ten minutes later. That’s… that’s what it felt like.” Victor pulled his arms around himself, shivering. He must have been frozen, out all night in the snow with just a torn shirt and a pair of dirty jeans. Michael was cold through as well, and he at least had been able to sleep.

“I would never have forgiven myself,” he muttered. “I would _never_ have forgotten.” Victor shrugged his shoulders, finally willing to open his eyes.

“You would never have remembered doing it,” he countered. The slight frown on his face was not a condemnation. If anything, he seemed sympathetic, which made things worse for Michael. He wanted the blame for doing this. He needed the guilt to be able to process it.

“Victor, I am –”

“It’s my fault, though,” Victor said quickly. “I dragged you out here last night. You followed me. You put yourself at risk because I was being stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Michael tried to argue, but Victor utterly refused to let him. He had something to get off his chest, and it was going to come out now, in one burst, whether Michael wanted it to or not.

“My stupid, selfish freak-out is why you came chasing after me, and into harm’s way. Hell, what if it didn’t stop there?” Victor glared at Michael, and his heart skipped, but he was able to recognise that it was not directed at him. Victor was aiming that anger at himself. “Look, to be frank, you clamouring at the bottom of this tree all night, like you were me waiting for the pizza place to open, was a serious stroke of luck. If you had wandered off into town, you might have ended up hurting someone. Or, worse, you might have got on the wrong end of someone with a shotgun, and ended up splattered on the pavement. You spending all night trying to eat me was the _best-case_ scenario, and I still don’t feel great about it. Do you?” Michael shrugged. Of course not. And Victor was right. Plenty of the wannabe cowboys in Greenvale kept guns under their pillows, just waiting for an opportunity to use them on something bigger than a squirrel. More and more, he could see Harry’s logic for wanting to keep him close by and under watch.

“It’s still not your fault,” Michael muttered. “You couldn’t control yourself last night.”

“Yeah, and neither could you,” Victor fired back, frowning softly. “Look, I’m just saying…” He dropped his eyes to the ground, hunching forward, like he was trying to enter the foetal position while standing up. “Neither of us could do anything to stop what happened. We were both out of control. It _is_ out of our control. And it’s not… not safe.” He tightened his arms around his chest, hunching in further, letting his face disappear under a cloak of hair, so that Michael could not make eye contact. “You need someone to keep an eye on you. Really put you first. And I just… need to be alone. Where I can’t hurt anyone.”

“I’m not listening,” Michael insisted. He grabbed for the collar of Victor’s shirt, and pressed his forehead against his boyfriend’s, inhaling sharply. He could feel that Victor was shaking, and was once again reminded of just how badly he had been forced to spend the night. “I’m not going to listen to any of what you’re saying,” he breathed, hoping to drill the message in through repetition. He would say it over and over for hours, if that was what it took.

“Then what do I do?” Victor mumbled. Michael thought for a moment, wanting to find the right answer. The thing that would fix it. He pulled Victor’s face up into sight, cupping his cheeks, and tried to bury the exhausted look of defeat he saw there beneath a kiss.

“Right now, we go to the hospital,” he said, smoothing his fingers over Victor’s frozen cheeks, murmuring with assurance, trying to comfort them both. “It has been a very long night, and I need to be sure you’re all right.”


	7. Seven

Michael rushed through his shift as best he could, hoping that doing so might somehow speed up time. When he had arrived at the hospital earlier, his excuses for being late were quickly pushed aside. Fiona had understood the situation as soon as she looked at the worn and shaking figure he was dragging along behind him. Hopefully she had not understood any of the finer details, but Michael was relieved enough to not have to explain himself, that he had not said a further word. A nurse had swept Victor up and taken him away to be looked after. Michael had not seen him since. Fiona, knowing that things were already hard on him, must have edited his list of tasks for the day, because he had been doing nothing but reordering old equipment since he had got there. Every time he finished something, he was handed another mundane task to be getting on with. As he sat in front of a pile of boxes, touching up the labels, he wished that they had given him something more stressful to deal with. It would make for a better distraction.

All Michael could think about was what was happening with Victor. He had gone silent as they left the woods, and had not said a word on the drive over to the hospital. The quiet had been so oppressive, that Michael had been worried that he had fallen asleep. When Michael had tried to touch him, gently testing his forehead, Victor had still been made of ice. Michael had kept telling himself that that had been the problem. Not that what Victor had been talking about before was still on his mind. He wanted that thought gone. Erased completely, from both their minds.

Knowing that things were still this fragile, after all this time, and that he might lose Victor completely, was hard to bear. He did not even know what he would do in that situation. He would have to move out of their house, probably just to go home. He did not want to live alone. Harry would be callous about the situation. The ‘I told you so’s would last for a long time. Slowly, Michael would close in on himself again, forgetting why he had ever tried to branch out in the first place. No doubt Harry would start to suggest that it was pointless for him to have other hired help in the house with Michael back, and he would eventually end up exactly where he had started. Taking care of his father, isolated, and alone. If that was what was waiting for him, then the past year had been pointless. It would just have been him kidding himself, pretending that he had a chance to feel something. To get out of the rut he had been moulded for.

The last label was finally finished. Michael put down the pen and got up. It was still early for him to be finishing for the day, but he hoped that sympathy would create a passable excuse. He marched off to find Fiona, and to see if she knew where they had taken Victor. It was time to face up to what came next. He found her hovering outside one of the wards, talking to the doctor. Despite the amount of time he spent here now, Michael still barely saw any doctors other than Ushah Johnson. There were a couple of surgeons who skittered around in the basement like insects, treating anything more abrasive than a cough, but they never interacted with anyone above ground. Michael would be surprised to find out that they even had vocal cords.

“Excuse me,” he said, interrupting their conversation. Fiona turned towards him with a sympathetic smile. Michael did quite like her unfailing tolerance. He knew that most people would be less pleased to separate from the object of their affection just to help him out. “Everything I’ve been given for the day is finished. I was hoping I could leave, if I won’t be missed.”

“Sure, Michael, don’t worry!” Fiona assured him. “That’s okay, right, doctor?” She turned her face up towards Ushah with a smile. Just as a formality, Michael was sure. Nowadays, Fiona seemed to be the force behind most of what got done and decided around the hospital. Ushah practically worked for her. As expected, he had no objection.

“Yes, feel free to get going if you need to,” Ushah said. Michael hung around. What he wanted was to ask where Victor had been taken, but he disliked the idea of airing his personal life any more than was necessary. Thankfully, Fiona was already expecting the question.

“I can take you to your, er, friend, if you want,” she said, setting off and waiting for him to follow. “I thought you might want a chance to see him.” Michael could not thank her enough. Not that he would. He mumbled a quick platitude of gratitude and hurried along at her side. When Ushah had vanished safely into the distance behind them, Fiona came to a stop, and shot him a knowing look over the top of her glasses.

“Yes?” Michael asked, hunching his shoulders, feeling uncomfortable to be on the spot.

“What actually happened to you out there?” she asked. “Sorry, I know it’s nosy, I was just killing myself with curiosity all day. It looked like your boyfriend got mauled by an animal or something! Like a wild dog, maybe. Oh! It is boyfriend, still, right? You two didn’t get married or anything?” Michael flinched and flushed at the sudden explosion of personal information being wielded against him. Fiona said it all with a big smile on her face, as if they were sleepover pals, and he had no idea why. He knew the other nurses liked to chat and gossip together, but he had never made any special attempt to be friendly with anyone. Not so much as eating lunch with someone, in all the time he had been working there, and he was just an orderly. He should not be on anyone’s radar.

“He’s… no. We aren’t.” Fiona hesitated as she read his reluctant expression, but came back a second later with an even wider smile.

“Harry talks about you two a lot when he’s in here,” she said, by way of an explanation. Michael was not sure if that was better or worse than her guessing on her own. He imagined his father had very little positive to say about the topic. “It’s been so kind of him to help me out here since I covered for you that time.” She punctuated with a wink, and he wanted to sink into the floor to escape. Michael remembered that Fiona had been the person Harry had called to help look after him after his sudden, accidental disappearance left him in the lurch. The one which had involved him taking up space in Victor’s basement, and, inevitably, Victor taking up space in his. Since then, Harry had found new assistants to take over the burden, usually for a short period of time before they were replaced, and Fiona had been back at the hospital. Seeing as the hospital was, like many of the other buildings in Greenvale, technically part of the Stewart estate, he could imagine that a thankful Harry’s influence had been quite helpful for Fiona’s career. It must have been the driving factor in her gaining her current level of administrative power. Michael could hardly fault her. Harry’s ownership over the building was what had got him in the door for this job, as well.

“It, ah, yes,” Michael said awkwardly. “Very kind.”

“He really doesn’t like your boyfriend, though,” Fiona joked. Michael forced himself to make a curt little laugh in response. He preferred not to know that Harry was badmouthing his relationship to anyone who would listen. “But he seemed nice! Well, you know, considering what’s happened… I’m sure he’s great. You two seem like a good couple.”

“Thank you,” Michael muttered, to be polite. He wondered what would give her that impression, after having such a fleeting and unpleasant encounter with them this morning. As long as she stopped talking about it, he would be happy. Or, if not happy, at least satisfied. Fiona was not oblivious to his discomfort, and she started walking once again.

“He’s in the room just down here,” she said. “He’s fine. I know you were worried, but he’ll be okay.” That, at least, was a big relief. Michael followed her as she held the door open for him, and then went inside. It was one of the smaller, single bed rooms that were very rarely used anymore. They were typically reserved for the dying and the contagious. In this case, Michael had to assume that Fiona had thought both he and Victor might appreciate the privacy. When Michael saw him, lying in the hospital bed, he rushed over. Even knowing that he was just cold and cut up did not make it any easier to swallow the sight of him in the hospital bed, pale against the pillow. He had to remind himself that Victor was not dying. That was just how he always looked.

“Victor…” Michael murmured, standing over him. He clutched the edge of the bed tightly in his hands, and felt his chapped knuckles protest.

“Call me if you need anything,” Fiona said, before shutting the door behind her. When she was gone, Michael reached for Victor’s hand, and held it tightly. Victor had been sleeping, but it was a shallow sleep, and he stirred back to life when Michael grabbed him.

“Oh, hey,” he mumbled, still the worse for wear. Michael frowned to himself. It was difficult to see him looking so ground down. Victor usually let things bounce off him, or at least tried to. This was not the person he knew, that was lying here. It was another side of Victor that he had only guessed faintly at before.

“How are you feeling? Were they gentle with you? Was everyone polite? What did they say? Are you feeling all right?” Michael rushed through the questions, unsure which he wanted answered first, or if he was ready to hear any answers at all. He tried to stop babbling, forcing himself to breathe, so he could make sense. “What did they have to say about… everything that happened?”

“The cuts and bruises will heal. Nothing serious, nothing septic,” Victor answered. He put on a weak smile and gave Michael’s hand a supportive squeeze. “They figure I got attacked by an animal, so I just told them that that sounded about right. Said I didn’t remember the specifics.”

“But they… they would have had more questions than just that,” Michael said. He did not want to push, but he had to know. Victor watched him levelly for a moment, before slowly answering.

“Yeah, they asked why I was in the woods to begin with,” he said. Michael waited, but Victor was not forthcoming with more.

“And?” he asked, feeling impatient, and wishing he was not.

“And I was honest,” Victor said. “I said that I… I talked about my problems. I told them why I went out there and what had been… going on, I guess, lately. And before lately. And for the past… few years. And I guess for a couple more before that.” He turned his head away, easing his hand free. Michael’s fingers twitched as he tried to snatch him back, but he controlled the impulse. This was difficult enough without him adding extra pressure. He was beginning to understand that.

“That was brave of you,” Michael said softly. Victor shrugged and made a muted snorting noise, wanting it to be funny. It was not a funny situation, not to Michael.

“Yeah, they… there were a lot of questions.” Victor was clearly not enjoying himself. Talking about it had been hard enough when it had just been the two of them, frantic and terrified in the middle of the woods. Repeating it all, clinically, in a hospital, and now reliving that moment again… Michael did not envy him. He wanted to hold his hand again, but knew that if Victor flinched away from him, it would be painful.

“Did they tell you anything?” Michael asked. If Victor did not want to talk about it, he could probably find his chart and read it in there. He could anyway, if he wanted to. He dismissed the idea, bothered that it had crossed his mind at all. He would like to be better than that.

“They want me here overnight,” Victor said. “I think they think I might get into trouble again. I couldn’t really tell them I was out all night without explaining why, so the details came out kind of hazy. I don’t know if they totally believed me. For all I know, they think I chased down a fox and let it savage me up for kicks. Anyway… I don’t know.” He trailed off and sighed to himself. Michael realised he was once again clutching the edge of the bed, and tried to loosen his grip.

“That’s all right,” he said. “It might be better this way. You can get some sleep.” Victor snorted at the suggestion. “It’s important to rest, Victor,” he pressed. “You went through a lot last night. Tomorrow, we can start thinking about… everything else.”

“You mean what happens next?” Victor asked, turning to look at him. His eyes, and the purple tracks underneath them, were the only hints of colour in his chalky face. Michael bit his lip.

“That,” he said, in a small voice. “Everything can wait until tomorrow.” Victor forced a very faint smile to crease his face. It would not have convinced a child, but Michael leant down and kissed him all the same. He could not help but be afraid, as he did so, that it would be the last time he got to kiss him. As if he would come back tomorrow, only to find out that Victor had spirited himself away in the night. Run for his life, onto the next town, a fresh distraction. Another Michael. Something he had no doubt done so many times before. The pattern was becoming obvious, and Michael knew that Victor was building up to start it all over again. Even if he was still here tomorrow, he would be gone soon, and gone for good.

“Tomorrow, Mickey,” Victor said softly, when they parted. Impulsively, Michael kissed him again, bending far over the bed. He was tempted to just climb onto it. They could screw right here, and maybe, if he was good enough, it would buy him some more time. If he kept up the distractions, he might eventually find the secret key to whatever would make Victor stay with him. But he doubted it. And he knew how badly that plan had gone before.

“Yes,” he mumbled, not wanting to cry. “Try to sleep until then. I… I love you.”

“I… too,” Victor said. Michael slowly pulled back, watching the near-blank expression on Victor’s face. It was a sure sign that he was hiding whatever he was feeling, but Michael knew it was not the right time for him to ask any more questions. If anything would make this situation worse, it was that. This was the moment for him to leave. He had to, he had no choice. Slowly, unwillingly, he walked to the door, turning his head when he reached it. Victor had already slid back down into the bed, ready to go back to sleep. The two of them held eye contact for a few seconds, before Michael forced himself through the door.

When he was out of the room, he shuddered violently and rushed down the hallway, stopping only when he needed to breathe. He leant up against the wall and gulped in air, choking and hiccupping. It was not dignified, but his heart was pounding, and he could feel a panic attack straining to get out. For a second he tried to fight it, but it was impossible. After two minutes of shuddering and struggling for breath, he got shakily to his feet and tried to reclaim some element of composure. It was not effective. He could feel tears on his cheeks, could not swallow the lump in his throat, could barely stand completely still. He wiped his nose and stumbled over to the pay phone attached to the opposite wall. Thank god for whoever had covered the town with them. He still had no desire to invest in a cell phone plan. That was, if you could even get one to work in the Greenvale mountains. He dialled, pressing the phone close to his ear, and feeling more impatient and desperate for every ring that went by unanswered.

“Hello? This is Harry Stewart.”

“Dad, it’s me,” Michael said, before a fresh burst of sobs came pouring out of him. “Pl… please can y-you send… I need someone to pi… pick me u-u-up.”


	8. Eight

Breakfast was very quiet. Harry had sent one of his current caretakers over in the car right after they had hung up the phone. As soon as they arrived, Michael had bundled himself into the backseat. Silent, aside from the occasional weak sob. He had not had much to say to Harry, either, once he got to the mansion. There had been questions, but Michael had avoided them. Either because their time apart had taught Harry to better respect his son’s independence or, more likely, because Michael was far more emotional than Harry had ever seen him and he did not know how to handle the mess, he let him go to his old bedroom to be alone. Michael had tried to read for a while, but his favourite books had all migrated to Victor’s house. After a couple of hours of fussing around, trying to find something to hold his attention, he had just given up and gone to sleep. He had woken up late and got dressed in some older clothes that were still leftover in his wardrobe, and joined Harry for breakfast. Where, so far, they had not said a word.

Michael drearily spooned his oatmeal, thinking that it was the first time he had actually been served food in this house without it being a special occasion. Though maybe it was, of a sort. He was certainly going through something ‘special’. Last night’s behaviour had testified to that. He glanced up from the table to see that Harry was watching him pretend to eat. It was obvious that he had questions to ask, and Michael decided it was better to get them out of the way now, while he was feeling numb about the situation, rather than to put it off any more. There was no hope of him getting out of there without answering.

“I called into your job for you,” Harry said, breaking the silence, as he noticed Michael meet his eye properly for the first time. “You’re excused for the day. I explained that there was a family emergency.”

“Thank you,” Michael said flatly. He would have gone in. It would almost have been nice, just to have the distraction. However, he realised that he was already late for work, and that Harry’s word would get him out of any lingering trouble for yesterday, as well. If only he could trust that the call had been made in his best interest, and not just because his father wanted to hear the details of what had gone wrong between him and his boyfriend.

“Now, I want to know what on Earth had you so upset yesterday. You wouldn’t tell me a thing.” Harry leant forward, lowering his voice, as if they were being listened in on. It was a pointless gesture. No-one else was there, as the current staff members Harry had in reserve were hidden away in the back part of the house somewhere. “Was it that man?”

“If you mean Victor, then yes,” Michael said, suddenly feeling frustrated, and stabbing at his oatmeal with the spoon to prove it. “But not in the way you think.”

“Oh, Michael, you have no idea what I think,” Harry said, leaning back smugly in his chair, and tapping his fingers on the arms. Michael glowered at him.

“He’s ill,” Michael spat. “I was worried. I _am_ very worried. He’s in the hospital, actually. That’s why I didn’t want to go back to our home by myself.” Harry’s expression faltered slightly, but he persevered. Nothing would stop him from finding a way to blame anything going wrong in Michael’s life on Victor. Better than on himself.

“What’s wrong with him?” Harry asked. Michael fished around for lumps in his food, ignoring the question as best as he could.

“You don’t care,” he muttered.

“Michael!” Harry snapped, and Michael jumped in his seat. His spoon slipped from his hand and dropped into the bowl with a small splash. “You are twenty-three years old, so I am not going to sit here while you act like a moody teenager.” Especially as he had never actually been much for rebellion when he was a teenager, and had saved all his moods for his diary, Michael thought. Harry clearly did not subscribe to the idea of better late than never.

“I apologise,” Michael said. “The truth is… it’s hard to explain. It’s sensitive.”

“How sensitive can it possibly be?” Harry insisted, making Michael wince. “You said he’s in the hospital. Did he break his arm or catch the flu? Unless you’re implying that that man has been unfaithful to you again…” Michael watched Harry wrinkle his nose, and felt the need to step in.

“No, no!” he said quickly, holding up his hand. “And what do you mean ‘again’? I never… ah, Victor never…”

“Give it a rest, Michael,” Harry said. “I’m aware that there was an incident between him and our town’s notorious chanteuse. I kept quite a close eye on her after everything that transpired with George. You should know that.” Michael supposed he did, but he did not like the idea that Harry had essentially been spying into his personal life again. Though, most likely, he still was and would never stop. He supposed that dark moment from their past was just another log on the already steep pile of reasons why his father did not much care for Victor.

“He isn’t like that anymore…” Michael mumbled to himself. Harry scoffed in response.

“Men who are like that are always like that,” he chided. “Which is a lesson I did not expect I would have to teach anyone, after I neglected to have a daughter. Though thank you for letting me vicariously live the experience of what that might have been like.” Michael glared at him, but said nothing. Harry did not break eye contact, and was looking steadily back at him with a fixed expression that Michael was used to seeing anytime he was being scolded for some small mistake.

“Whatever,” he muttered.

“We discussed your acting like a teenager, Michael,” Harry warned him. “And don’t slouch so much.” Michael straightened his back with a scowl. “So, if it’s not that, then what exactly has that man done to land himself in the hospital?” Michael considered telling Harry that he had attacked Victor during the snowstorm. He almost wanted to, just to see the smugness melt away, when he revealed that it was _him_ who was at fault. Gravely at fault. But he knew that doing so would mean triggering Harry’s persistent underlying paranoia about the town’s fog, and it was not worth that. He had already felt like a caged bird at times when he had been living at home. It was better not to risk giving Harry a reason to have him shut up here again. For his own good, of course.

“He… he’s ill,” Michael said again.

“Yes, we established that. But ill how?” Harry asked. Michael struggled, twisting his hands in his lap. “What is wrong with him, Michael?” Harry pushed.

“That’s just it, he’s _ill!_ ” Michael blurted out. “There is no physical problem. He’s ill. There’s something wrong, and I don’t know what it is yet. I need them to tell me! I… I need to know what I can _do_ about it.” Michael shuddered and buried his face in his hands. When he emerged a moment later, he saw Harry watching him still, steady and silent, carefully swirling his spoon around in his empty bowl. Thinking.

\--

Victor had been lying in the dark when the door opened and the light clicked on. He sat up, blinking, which must have meant he had been awake. Not an ideal sign for his mental state, Michael would admit. When Victor saw who it was, his expression barely changed, and Michael’s heart sank. He was just the same to him as a random nurse. Even after Victor had had most of the day to himself to miss him. Michael walked into the room nonetheless, and approached the bed. Victor opened his mouth to speak, when he caught sight of Harry waiting in the hallway outside.

“What?” he asked brusquely. “Why did you bring him?” Michael had to hope he was not too angry. If he was, his face did not do a good job of showing it.

“He came with me for support,” Michael said quietly. He did not especially want to talk about Harry while he was there. Victor had never had such a problem. In fact, he and Harry almost seemed to enjoy their long, passive-aggressive exchanges, testing how open they could be about their feelings without officially ruining the dinner. Usually while Michael sat and ate in silence.

“Okay…” Victor said.

“I thought it might be helpful for him to talk with the doctors, as well,” Michael added, trying vaguely to sell the idea. “If… you need that. I don’t know how things have developed since yesterday.” Victor did not immediately swallow the clanging hint. He kept his eye on Harry, until Harry decided it was an invitation, and followed Michael into the room. He removed his gasmask and placed it on his lap, so that they could talk.

“Hello, Victor,” he said. Michael could not remember the last time he had actually heard Harry address Victor by name. Or even refer to him by name. He always found a way to avoid doing so. Victor noticed the change as well, and eyed him uneasily.

“Yeah, hey. Hello yourself,” he muttered back. The strained smile that followed on Harry’s face led Michael to fear that another sniping match was on its way, but Victor sunk back into his pillow and stared into space instead of engaging.

“What have the doctors said?” Michael asked. Victor did not immediately answer, wasting some time staring up at the ceiling instead. Michael was impatient, and was about to ask again, when Victor sighed.

“Just that they want to keep me here, really,” he said. “They think I might be a danger to myself, so they want me to stay here a few days where they can keep me under observation. Babysitting, more like. Expensive babysitting.”

“Don’t worry about that, Victor, that’s not important.” Michael smiled, trying to look hopeful, but Victor did not even glance at him. “Did they tell you anything yet...?” he went on, trying to get to the truth at last. Victor vaguely shrugged to himself.

“Some stuff,” he muttered. Nothing else followed. Whatever they had told him, he clearly did not want to share. Michael hung his head, weighed down by the whole situation. His expression faltered, and he could no longer pretend that he thought things would be all right. No-one else wanted to play pretend, and he would not do it by himself.

“Michael, go and fetch your boyfriend something to drink,” Harry instructed. Michael hesitated. “Places like this never remember what people need, and they can never be bothered to bring it to you when they do. Go and track down some water.” Michael was tempted to point out that he did in fact work here, and that he knew the staff did not casually forget about their patients. All five or six of them that were here at any time. Still, he acquiesced, knowing that Harry was planning something, and that he could not stop him if he wanted to. He left the room as if to go and do as he had been told, making sure to walk a short distance, before turning and quietly tiptoeing back to the door. He hovered outside of it, waiting to see what the two of them said when he was not around.

“You don’t even offer me something to drink when we’re at your place, so I know you’re not suddenly itching with concern about how I feel,” Michael heard Victor say, and he bit his lip. If Victor started a fight now, it would snowball, and give him an excuse for a break up. Maybe that was the point. Maybe Harry really had just been being considerate, and now Victor was going to attack him for it, just to get out of their relationship. He dreaded the response.

“This is not about your _feelings_ ,” Harry said back. “It’s about your problem.”

“Which problem is that?” Victor snorted loudly. “Doesn’t matter how many times you bring it up, my nancy-boy tendencies are more _your_ problem.” Michael winced. If only they could avoid provoking each other. No matter how much he hoped, though, they never failed to miss an opportunity to fight. It was recreational at this point, like playing tennis. “If you’ve come to tell me to break up with Michael again, then there’s no point. You shouldn’t bother.” That was enough. So, he had made up his mind. Michael wondered if he was even going to tell him face to face, or if he was just hoping to disappear as soon as the nurses took their eye off him. At least Harry was going to be happy. Michael clutched a fist over his chest and forcibly swallowed the lump in his throat. If he reacted to this in any way, they would know he had been eavesdropping.

“Not that,” Harry answered. He was clearly annoyed, which surprised Michael. Probably just at Victor’s snottiness. “I came here to tell you something.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’m stuck in this bed, so consider me listening.”

“I took the time to make some phone calls today,” Harry explained. As ominously as possible, Michael thought, though it was hard to be certain of tone with a door between them. Perhaps his own dread was affecting what he heard. “The doctors here are well aware of what’s wrong with your head. As, I’m sure, are you. You’ve had issues in the past, which, for the sake of polite conversation, neither of us will discuss. Needless to say, I’m aware of your problems, the doctors in this hospital have figured you out, and any delay in actually talking to you about it is likely because you’ve been labelled a suicide risk. They’re simply dragging their heels to spare you an unpleasant conversation, something I’m sure Michael does not appreciate.”

“I bet he doesn’t,” Victor sniffed. No, he does not, Michael thought grimly to himself. He wished they would talk more about it. Even if this was not the way he should find out what was wrong, he was desperate. When Victor inevitably vanished for his next town along the trail, Harry would probably fill him in on the details. That would have to do.

“You _are_ going to discuss it with him,” Harry pressed. Michael could just picture the look on his face as he said it. There was no arguing with that look. Not for him, anyway.

“Guess I have to,” Victor shot back. “Seeing as how someone went around digging up old, private medical records. Hope you didn’t give yourself a papercut while you were violating those ethics there.” To Michael’s surprise, Harry laughed.

“You’re a very combative young man,” he said. “I’m sure I’d like you a lot more under different circumstances.” It was obvious from the silence that Victor did not know how to respond. Michael would not have either. He wondered how much longer he could feasibly fake being gone on his quest for water. “My point is,” Harry went on. “You have to talk about this with Michael. I won’t let you avoid it. You’ve insisted on staying a part of his life, and he’s attached to you, despite my objections. It’s his life, I suppose, to throw away if he must. I clearly can’t stop him from living with you, but I can make your life _very_ uncomfortable if you do anything cruel to my son.”

“I… uh… y-yeah,” Victor mumbled, low enough that Michael struggled to hear it. He wanted to press his ear right against the door, but the idea of accidentally tumbling into the room put him off.

“I’m glad you agree,” Harry said coolly. This talk felt like something he had planned out carefully in advance, and it seemed to be going exactly how he wanted it to. Michael never liked to admit it, but Harry did have a way of getting inside people’s heads. It was a talent. “I’m going to tell you something now, and this is not something I want us to discuss again. You’ll listen, and that will be it.” There was a pause, and Michael assumed that Victor had assented quietly enough that he had not made it out. Harry let out a long sigh, before continuing. “Long before Michael came into my life, I was married. My wife, at that time, was not well. She had an illness like yours. Not the same one, and in those days, you did not ask, but something of that same nature. I loved her, despite that, but she grew worse over time, and it eventually became unbearable to live with her. I will admit that leaving was not the right thing to do, but it is what I did, and after that she became far, far worse than I could have possibly anticipated. A lot of this I only found out after the fact, you understand. A lot of what happened afterwards. But I don’t feel the need to justify myself to you.”

“Oh… okay…” Victor said uncertainly.

“I am not going to let either you or Michael repeat those same mistakes,” Harry said, and Michael could hear the force he was putting behind his words. “Michael has always been a chance for me to make up for my past. If I watch him reach the same hurdle I faced, and fail to climb over it…”

“Isn’t that his decision?” Victor interrupted.

“It is,” Harry agreed. “But you are going to make it easy on him.” The next part came out as more of a low hiss than anything, and Michael had to strain to make it out. “So help me, I will have them lock you up in this hospital for as long as it takes. You’re going to learn your lesson. You’re going to be the better man. You _will_ pull yourself up, and stop this childish habit of running away from your problems. You will face up to the truth, and fix yourself, for Michael’s sake. Or I will… well.”

“What? Have me killed?” Victor joked, laughing nervously.

“Perhaps,” Harry answered, darkly teasing him. “You know I could, if I really wanted to. Don’t give me a reason.”

“I, er… well, yes, sir.” At least, that was what Michael thought he said. Victor sounded quite taken aback. He could not blame him.

“I’m glad we understand each other,” Harry said, almost sounding friendly. “This must be a difficult time for you. I wish I was more sympathetic. As it is, we’ll just carry on as before. I won’t actively try to stop your involvement with my son, and you will be on your best behaviour, and stop acting up, knowing that I’m watching you. Does that sound fair?”

“It’s about the fairest thing anyone’s father has ever said to me,” Victor scoffed. “Including my own. Guess I can’t complain.”

“No, you certainly cannot,” Harry agreed. “Though, at this stage, we should probably stop talking about it. I’m sure Michael has managed to locate some water by now. He must be on his way back.” The statement jolted Michael back into life. He remembered that he was in fact part of what was happening, and not just a ghost at the fringes. He forced himself to wait for what he hoped was at least a minute, while the room behind the door lapsed into silence, before stumbling back in.

“There’s no… I couldn’t find anything,” he babbled awkwardly, not wanting them to realise what he had been up to. Harry eyed him suspiciously, but Victor did not react to his sudden reappearance.

“That’s fine, I didn’t want anything anyway,” he said. “I have some water by the bed already.” Michael caught sight of the glass that Victor indicated on the table next to him, and sighed.


	9. Nine

In the end, they kept Victor in the hospital for a week. Michael went in to see him every day, during his lunch break, but he was rarely animated. When they ate together, Michael did all the talking. Victor joined in just enough to respond to his stories about work, or the changes Harry had made around the mansion in his absence. It hurt to go through it every time, but he knew that Victor was suffering as well. Being poked and questioned by the doctor at all hours had to be grating. Especially for someone so unwilling to open up. Michael knew that, but he still found it difficult, because he knew the end was coming. And indeed, it did. One day, Michael came in to work, only to discover that Victor had been sent home. He tried to hide his shock. He was still staying at the mansion, because the idea of being at home without Victor had been too much for him. Obviously, he was the only one of them who felt that way.

He had gone back to the house after work that day. When Victor opened the door, he visibly cringed to see Michael standing outside. The excuse he gave was that he was so relieved to be home, that he had fallen straight to sleep as soon as he got through the door. He had been meaning to call, of course, and let Michael know. It had just slipped his mind. Michael accepted the story, because he had no choice, and began to broach the topic of him getting his things and coming home. They could be together again. Victor chewed his lip and winced. Michael was sure it had been a wince. Victor started his excuses. He needed a few days or so to get his head together. Some time to think, after everything that had happened. This was a big deal for him, and he needed to digest it before things could get back to normal. Michael had nodded along, blank face fixed while his guts twisted inside him. Victor did not ask him to come inside the house. If anything, he stood so firmly in the doorway, his arm leaning on the frame, that Michael could not pass if he wanted to. It was a very clear signal. Michael had left and gone back to his car, sitting in the front seat with his hands on the wheel, as he tried to decide whether Victor would be packed and gone by tomorrow morning, or if he would need a day to sort out his affairs. Either way, it would be the last time he would see him, and he was sure of that. He had not even managed to kiss him goodbye.

Three days went by, and Michael was slowly beginning to adjust to the idea that he was back with Harry for good. He was starting to return to his routine. Harry had not made any comments about Victor, even though Michael would not be surprised if he knew that he was out of the hospital. He could have called and asked at any time. He had his contacts. At some point, Michael knew he needed to go and collect his things from Victor’s house. His books and his clothes and everything else. It could wait, though, as long as he could live without them. Knowing that going back meant seeing the place abandoned, all of Victor’s things gone, and nothing left of him to cling to, was something he was not ready to face. Not yet. Reclaiming a collectible edition of Keats was not worth suffering through that emotional punch. It was a surprise, then, when he answered the phone on the third night to hear Victor’s voice on the other end.

“Hey, Mickey,” he said. No discernible agenda. Perhaps Harry’s threat had convinced him to at least say goodbye, rather than slipping off like a one-night stand come the morning light.

“Hello, Victor. How are you?” He did not intend it to sound so sterile, but getting invested at this point would just be painful. It was better to distance himself while he had a chance.

“Good, thanks. Coping.” He heard Victor sigh. “They put me on some medication while I was at the hospital. You probably already know. It’s an adjustment, I’m just… sleeping weird. A lot of things feel weird right now, actually. But that’s not why I called.”

“No? Why… did you?” Michael reflexively tugged on a piece of his bangs, twisting the hair around his finger, while he waited for what was surely coming next.

“I was hoping we could talk. In person, like. Would that be okay?” Michael steeled himself. This was it. The moment he had been dreading.

“Of course, that’s fine. What sort of time?” At least Victor laughed, if just a little.

“A buck for the rhyme jar…” he said softly. “Maybe an hour, if you can make that.”

“I can make it to the house in an hour, easily,” Michael said, but he heard Victor begin to err.

“No, not the house,” he said. “I wanted to do this somewhere else.” Michael understood. Far less drama that way. In fact, he bet Victor already had his truck packed up, and this would be his last stop in Greenvale before driving off into the sunset. “You know that place we went for your last birthday?”

“Oh, yes. I do.” That had been a nice day. They had driven up to the Forest Park, parked at the very top of the mountain, by the observation deck, and eaten take out food in the back of Victor’s truck. It was a good memory. Not so good now. Michael did not like to think that it was about to be tainted by their breakup, but he had little choice in the matter. If he argued too much, Victor might just decide to skip the formalities, and dump him over the phone. He at least wanted a final kiss and a goodbye.

“Meet me there in an hour. I’ll see you there.” With that, Victor hung up the phone. Michael put it down and sat on his bed. He let himself fall backwards, listening to the mattress squeak, and staring up at the ceiling. He could hardly believe it was going to end this way, but it had been a long time coming by now. It was time to accept the facts.

Michael got up from the bed. He had to get ready. If there was any chance whatsoever of prolonging things, he was going to take it. Even if it just ended up lasting until morning. That would almost be enough. He went over to the mirror, and concluded that he was a mess. He had not bothered changing when he got home from work, so he was still in scrubs worn through with a whole day’s sweat. If he was going to see Victor, this was unacceptable. He wished he had not become so sloppy since coming back home. Harry had been giving him some distance, and he supposed that, thanks to the vague depression he had been feeling lately, it was hard to motivate himself to be better. After what was going to happen tonight, things were unlikely to improve anytime soon.

Michael undressed and went through to his bathroom to turn on the shower. As he stepped in and felt the hot water hit him, he was stung by a strong desire to just lie down and let it go. Much easier than working himself up, going all the way over to meet Victor, and then getting his heart broken for his trouble. It was very tempting to stop right here and leave it all alone. He made himself push on, though, knowing that letting this final chance slip through his fingers would be something he never got over. He began to wash his hair, and when he shut his eyes, he could see Victor there. His brain was mocking him. The grieving process was going to be a lot longer and more grinding than he had realised. Rinsing his hands, he briefly considered jerking himself off. It would probably make him feel better, but not for long enough, and it was a waste of time he did not have. Besides, every time he had started lately, he had ended up thinking too much about Victor, and it had ruined the moment. He wished he had more diverse sexual experience to fall back on. It was frustrating that most of what he usually used for inspiration was borrowed from things he had done with his soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.

When he was clean, Michael climbed out of the shower, and looked at his face in the mirror. Tired. Bleak. Oh well, there was only so much he could do about that. He got the hair dryer and began to tackle a problem he could fix. By the time he finished getting his hair the way he liked it, he was almost happy with how he looked. As much as he ever was. Next, he rifled through his wardrobe, annoyed with himself for leaving all his good clothes at home. There was not much to choose from. Most of what he had left behind here had not seen much use since he was in his late teens, or was too formal for such a depressing date. He ended up picking out a pair of boxers he was pretty sure he had last worn when he was nineteen, and which were tight enough around the waistband to prove it, and one of the plain white suits that Harry had always liked. He remembered that he had abandoned this one when he moved because of a cigarette burn on the sleeve. A burn he had never confessed to putting on such an expensive suit, but one which would probably not show up in the evening light. As a final, slightly desperate touch, he sprayed his neck and wrists with cologne and hoped he was pulling something off. Looking at his reflection, with his hands on his hips, turning his face from side to side and jutting out his chin, made him feel at least slightly better. He had grown into himself a lot over the past few years, and despite the gangly branch with bad bangs he had been at sixteen, he would admit he was appealing enough to look at now. Victor had always thought so, anyway, and that was the only opinion that mattered tonight. He grabbed his car keys, forced himself to take a deep breath, and made for the door.

There was only one other car in the parking lot when he arrived. Well, a truck. Victor’s truck. Michael parked nearby, and walked over, but he was not inside. What he did see, however, was not comforting. The truck bed contained two boxes with, as far as he could tell, all of his things packed into them. He reached out an unsteady hand and gently touched the cover of the poetry collection that was sitting on top. The one Victor had given him for his twenty-second birthday. He pulled away, shivering. Later. He would deal with it later. Right now, he could not even bear to think about it.

After a few seconds of searching, Michael realised that Victor was standing across the lot on the wooden observation deck that looked out over the forest. He swallowed a few slow breaths, and went over to him. Victor had been staring off into the distance, but turned when he heard Michael coming. At least he was smiling. He looked tired, though he had said something about sleeping badly. Michael did not flatter himself to think that he was the one keeping him up at night.

“Hello,” Michael said gently. In the darkness, Victor’s hair and face stood out, making him the brightest thing in sight. It was hard to look at anything else. Not that he wanted to. He was hoping to memorise him, now, while he had the chance.

“Hey, Michael. Thanks for coming. I sort of didn’t think you would want to.” At least they understood each other. Victor was not stupid enough to think Michael had missed all his signs. They both knew tonight would be a trial.

“I wouldn’t leave you here waiting,” Michael said. Which he realised was a bit rich, because he was ten minutes late. He had spent too much time trying to look good for their break up conversation. That, and he had not exactly been in a hurry to have the break up conversation.

“Thanks, though,” Victor said weakly. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, and was acting uncomfortable. Guilty, Michael assumed. “It’s been really hard dealing with all this. Finally facing the demons, you know?” From Victor’s perspective, that might even be literal, Michael thought. He was aware at this point what was wrong with him. His curiosity had eventually won out over doing the right thing, and he had peeked at Victor’s notes. He could see why things had got as bad as they had. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know… I’m sorry. For everything I put you through. I get that it was a lot, and I didn’t help anything.”

“I understand, Victor. I don’t need you to apologise,” Michael said. Not for this, at least. Maybe afterwards, when he was finished pulling the rug out from under him.

“I wanted to, you know?” Victor insisted. His eyes were shifting from place to place, and his hands remained buried unhappily in his pockets. He looked like someone making excuses for why their rent was late. “I don’t think it’s been worth it for you, putting up with me for so long. _I’m_ not… worth it.” That hurt to hear, for a different reason, but Michael did not correct him. If undervaluing their relationship made it easier to destroy it, then he would let him do it. Victor cleared his throat loudly. “The thing is, I… I really don’t want to keep forcing you to deal with me. Especially not now, now that we both know how it’s gonna be. You deserve better than that. I mean, you deserve a whole lot, actually, Mickey. And I can’t give you a pile of shit. So, I thought… well… I wanted to tell you that we can end it here, and it’ll be okay. I mean, you know, I’ll let you call things off with me, and I’m not gonna go and egg your house or harass whoever you end up with next, okay? It can just be quits. No hard feelings.”

“No hard feelings?” Michael repeated, stunned. He knew his mouth was hanging open, and he blinked at Victor for a moment, watching as he shifted uncomfortably and refused to make eye contact. “No hard _fucking_ feelings?!” he shouted. He got all of Victor’s attention with that. Even now, living with the other man for over a year, he still barely ever swore. Old habits die hard. No wonder Victor looked so shocked.

“Uh?” he began, but Michael balled his fists in front of his chest and turned on him immediately.

“How can you drag me out here, when I know what’s coming, and then expect _me_ to do the dirty work for you?” Michael shouted. “You pack all my things into your truck, essentially kick me out of my own home, you barely speak to me, you won’t let me help. I have to watch you hurting while you shut me out. And then, instead of having the basic human decency to just tell me it’s over, you ask _me_ to break up with _myself_ , so you won’t have to, what… feel bad? Is that what it is?” He was seething with frustration, barely able to stop himself from visibly shaking, and he had a lot more left to say. It seemed he was far angrier about this than he had realised. He had put a lot into this relationship, for a long time now, and to lose it all because of something he could not even control… it was too much. He was not having it. And he decided he would not make it as easy as possible for Victor to blow everything up, either.

“Woah! What the fuck?” Victor cried out, putting up his hands in surrender. “Mickey, you got the wrong end of the stick here.”

“How so?” Michael snapped. Victor reached out and cupped one of his fists in both his hands. Even that small gesture was enough for Michael to start melting, which annoyed him. He liked being angry. It felt so much better than being sad.

“Look, I don’t _want_ to break up with you,” Victor said. “I thought you would want to. We scared each other in the woods that night, and ever since I went to the hospital, you’ve been mopey as fuck. I assumed you needed the out, ‘cause you felt bad, or whatever. But I… that’s not what I want.”

“It’s not?” Michael asked, shoulders sinking suddenly, his arms going limp. He had been so sure. So much so that he half suspected this was Victor making an excuse, so he could flee more easily once Michael was distracted. But his expression was sincere. Watching as Michael relaxed, he began to smile again, and it was hard to believe it was a lie.

“No, Michael. I love you. I just don’t want to be a burden on you, now that you know… who I am.” That was more than enough for Michael. He practically jumped into Victor’s arms, kissing him fiercely, and sending them both stumbling a few steps backward. Victor steadied them both, pulling away and laughing to himself. “Careful,” he said. “It would be pretty ironic if we went over the edge now and died.” Michael glanced over the railing at the steep fall below. It would, he supposed. He could do without that sort of ending.

“Why did you pack all my things into the truck?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at Victor. If there was any chance whatsoever that he was still missing some kind of trick, he had to find out now.

“Oh, well… I really did think you were going to want to be rid of me, you know,” Victor said meekly. “The truth is, I was hoping that when you told me as much, you could take your stuff and that would be it. I’m hardly going to hang around after something like that, just to bump into you all around town and make small talk. No, I figure I’d rather… I don’t know…”

“Load up your truck and get on the road?” Michael suggested, giving him a fragile smile. Victor matched it.

“Yeah, maybe,” he admitted. “Something like that. Guess you know me pretty well by now, huh.”

“I do,” Michael sighed, pulling himself in close, and hugging Victor tightly. He was reluctant to let go when Victor eventually pried himself free.

“There’s one more thing,” Victor said. Michael’s heart jumped, but he had to give him the benefit of the doubt. Victor was not leaving him, he had said so. It might be hard for him to accept that, but, as he had said back in the woods on that unpleasant snowy night, he had to trust that he meant it. “I… kind of got you something. Sort of. Just in case we got to this point.” Victor reached for something in his pocket. He must have been holding onto it all along, Michael realised. When he withdrew his hand, he was holding up a small wooden spoon. Not exactly the sort of thing Michael had expected Victor to present him with after everything they had been through lately.

“Er… thank you,” he said, gingerly taking the proffered spoon. It was too small for much practical use, and looked as if it had been roughly carved by hand. There was a lock, or what he thought was a lock, shaped into the handle, along with something else. A bell, maybe? It was not exactly a conventional make up gift.

“It’s, um, well… kind of a traditional sort of thing,” Victor explained sheepishly. “My mam taught me about them when I was younger. Some old-fashioned wood-carving thing. Took me a few days to get it right. Anyway, it… it’s meant to be romantic, but I know it’s kind of stupid.”

“Wait, you made this for me?” Michael asked, suddenly warming up to the trinket a lot. Victor attempted to laugh it off, but nodded. Michael turned the spoon over in his hands, taking it in properly. That certainly explained the silence of the past few days. Victor had been busy with this. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured.

“Well, it’s not, but thanks. I did my best,” Victor said. “Never thought I’d _actually_ catch myself carving a lovespoon. They’re normally proposal gifts.” Michael sniffed at that, smiling darkly to himself as he gently stroked the carving in his hand.

“You shouldn’t tease me,” he muttered. It was nice to hear him joking again, though, all the same. Even if it was at his expense.

“No, I… I know,” Victor said. Sounding serious, actually. He grabbed hold of Michael’s wrist, and Michael looked up in surprise. Victor’s face did not look like he was joking. Michael’s mouth opened, and his hand tightened around the spoon. “Mickey, you’re really sure that you want to stick with me?” Victor asked. “Despite –”

“Despite anything, Victor,” Michael babbled back immediately, unable to contain himself. He was feeling numb with excitement. He hoped… if only… if this could possibly be what he thought.

“All right,” Victor said. He shut his eyes for a second and breathed, then moved his hand from Michael’s wrist, taking hold of his hand instead. He dropped down onto his knee, and Michael did an embarrassing little hop, which he hoped they could both pretend had not happened. “Michael Tillotson, would you –”

“Yes, Victor, yes!” he shouted. Victor rolled his eyes and curled his lip.

“Let me say it, man!” he sighed. Michael bit his lip, but he was finding it hard not to grin. Victor cleared his throat to try again. “Mickey, will you marry me?” Anticipating the answer Michael had already blurted out, he added, “You’re the only person foolish enough to say yes to me,” and smirked meanly. As if something as small as that was going to spoil the moment.

“I already told you, yes!” Michael shouted, and tumbled forward to kiss him, both of them ending up sprawled out on the wooden boards of the deck. Michael was sure to keep his hand clutched tightly around the wooden spoon. Just in case Victor changed his mind later, he wanted to hold onto the physical promise. They kissed for a while, eagerly overcompensating for all the unhappiness of the past weeks. When Victor was eventually forced to break for air, Michael remained fused to his side, stretched over his chest, clutching him close with his leg.

“I didn’t get you a ring,” Victor said. “Thought it’d be weird.”

“This is more than enough,” Michael murmured dreamily, sinking his head into Victor’s chest and letting his eyelids flutter shut. Victor idly stroked his hair.

“You’d never shut up until I finally agreed to it, anyway. It’s the only way for me to get some peace,” Victor teased, but Michael was not fooled.

“You love me,” he said. “It’s all right, you know. I know you want to feel safe, just as much as I do. I can see that now. But I’m not going anywhere. Never again.” Victor laughed uncomfortably, and Michael smiled to himself. The fact that Victor had managed this, considering how hard it must have been for him to admit it, both to Michael and, more importantly, himself, was a sign of just how much he loved him. Michael really meant what he said. He was in this for good now. Nothing, not the worst burst of brain chemistry, nor the most violent rainstorm, was going to pry him off now. He tightened himself around Victor as he thought it. Nothing in the world would drag him away.

“Maybe I do…” Victor muttered. “But anyway, fuck the future.” He kissed the top of Michael’s head. “Right now, I’d rather focus on the present. And the issue of how long it’s been since I got to see your cum face. What do you say? I think I’ve earned one.” Michael snorted to himself. He should have expected as much.

“Fine,” he said. “But this time, let’s actually get back inside the house first.” Victor toyed with a strand of his hair, and began to sit up.

“You got a date,” he agreed, helping Michael to his feet. And as they walked across the parking lot, through the darkness, he did not for a moment let go of his hand.


End file.
